


talk about the weather

by saltyaf



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, also fair warning: the Pokemon are predictable and stereotypical, but they are not in it that much so it should be okay, not enough sourin or reigisa to justify a tag but they are there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:18:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyaf/pseuds/saltyaf
Summary: In which Makoto works in a Pokémon Day Care and Haruka is absolutely smitten.





	1. something happens...

**Author's Note:**

> What I want to know is if there will ever be a time when I can actually keep something short. When I first had the plan to write this (months ago, honestly) I thought that it would be short – somewhere around 3000 words, maybe. This is actually about eight times the size of that, because right now it is clocking it at somewhere around 24 000 words and still growing. So, while I had originally intended for this to be posted as a one-shot, I made the decision to break it up into two chapters so that it would be less to take in all at once. This is not the first time this happened to me and it surely will not be the last time either, but there’s not much that I can do about that, I suppose.
> 
> The idea for this fic came from [this](https://68.media.tumblr.com/9d39bd19eb3f2648001c76a9b13f8695/tumblr_og4f41ggke1unztgio1_540.png) tweet. I actually began planning it months ago, but only got a chance to work on it recently. So personally, I sort of feel as though this has been a long time coming.
> 
> There is one important thing that you guys should know before reading on: I sort of fudged up the Pokémon League a little bit. The only Day Care that I am really familiar with is the one in Goldenrod City, so of course I chose that as the backdrop for this fic. But I did want to include Pokémon from all different regions and I wanted the characters to be from different regions as well, so I used my artistic license to change the workings of the Pokémon League a little bit. 
> 
> Remember how in Gold/Silver/HeartGold/SoulSilver the Johto region is literally right next to the Kanto region? Like, take a train close; you could actually surf from one region to the other. I’ve set this story up so that ALL of the regions are connected like that and then in the middle, the Elite Four stands loud and proud. It doesn’t come up much in the story at all, but it is a little bit of context for you guys, since the characters will be mentioning where they’re from every now and again.
> 
> Okay, so that’s it! Hopefully that makes sense and you guys will not be confused as you’re reading. And as usual, this is completely unbeta’d. I tried to catch all mistakes, but sincerest apologies if I ended up missing anything.

“Expect the unexpected.”

That was what his late grandmother always used to say. She had impressed it upon Haruka from young, made sure that he understood just how important it was to keep an open mind and never take things for granted.  

“You must always make sure to open yourself to the possibilities,” she had said, holding the teapot lightly in her gnarled hands. Haruka had always found them endlessly fascinating, big blue eyes tracing over every dip and curve in silent wonder, pride swelling in his chest every time he heard the stories behind them. They had always been his favourites; he begged her to tell them again and again every night as he lay curled up in his bed, the comforting weight of his Eevee resting heavy atop his chest.  

“Baa-chan,” he’d said softly, hot tea warming his little hands where they were curled around the cup, “what does that mean?” 

And she’d smiled so gently, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It means that it’s the big things that you have to look out for, Haruka. There are always hints with the small things, little ways that they let you know when they’re coming. But it’s not the same with the big ones.” She’d leaned forward then, voice soft as if imparting a closely guarded secret. “Those are the ones that always come around unexpectedly; those are the ones that can change your life. So you must always expect the unexpected. Always embrace what  _does_  happen, but also never be afraid of what  _could_.”  

He’d nodded solemnly, promising himself that he would do whatever it took to make his grandmother even half as proud of him as he was of her. Eevee had seemed to agree with his silent sentiment, crawling into his lap and licking the point of his chin. “Expect the unexpected,” he’d repeated quietly, one hand coming up to absently card through the brown fur. Then, looking up at his grandmother, voice quiet but resolute, “Okay, Baa-chan.”

 

\--

 

“C’mon, Haru-chan! Please? Please?”

Haruka remains unmoving, face tilted up to bathe in the sun’s golden rays. His Vaporeon – affectionately renamed Umi upon evolution – is lying beside him, the flukes of his tail swaying gently in the breeze. The grass is scratchy under Haruka’s back but the sensation is welcomed somehow, the tiny pinpricks grounding him in the moment and stopping his mind from wandering too far off.

Which means, unfortunately, that he can hear every word Nagisa is saying.

“You’re too noisy.”

“Haru-chan!” Nagisa butts his head against the trunk of a nearby tree, twisting it as if he could somehow burrow into the bark itself. “Please just do this one thing for – ah!” His voice pitches into a squeal as a Spinarak drops down from above, covering his head with its spindly legs. They scramble wildly against Nagisa’s face, unable to find purchase against the smooth skin of his cheeks, and its beady eyes widen in fear, red mandibles moving furiously. Nagisa instantly tries to pry the Pokémon off of him with shaking fingers, but to no avail; his pleas are muffled as he begins to panic. “Haru-chan, help! Please, get this little guy off, Haru-chan, I can’t breathe!”

Haruka sighs. “It’s your own fault,” he says lowly, but scratches behind Umi’s ears. The Vaporeon opens one eye lazily, huffing from his nose when he catches his trainer’s gaze. He flicks his tail tiredly but gets to his feet all the same, shooting a small stream of water at the offending Pokémon. It is enough to knock the Spinarak from Nagisa’s head, but not enough to cause any real damage; it takes one look at Umi and apparently decides against a fight, scuttling back up the tree with a burst of speed.

“Haru-chan, thank you!” Nagisa falls to his knees, gently tickling Umi’s chin. He yawns, pointed teeth glinting in the sunlight, pink tongue darting out in a show of contentment. Giggling, Nagisa continues, “And you too, Umi-chan! You really saved me back there. That’s what we get for playing around in Ilex Forest, huh?”

“Nagisa,” Haruka says. He twists his head just so, glancing at his friend from the corner of his eye. “What was it you wanted?”

He lights up. “Right! Haru-chan,  _please_  go to the Pokémon Day Care for me. Rei-chan left his Granbull there and was supposed to go and pick her up, but a challenger came to his Gym and he’s stuck there out of obligation.”

“That’s his job, Nagisa.”

“That’s funny coming from you!” He sticks out his tongue playfully. “I want to go and visit him so I can’t go and pick her up, but if she stays there any longer then the price would go up and Rei-chan says that he’s on a strict budget so Haru-chan,  _please!_  It’ll only take two minutes, ten tops!”

Haruka exchanges a look with Umi, the latter flattening his ears in what he knows to be annoyance. Truthfully, he feels the same; after Ilex Forest, they were supposed to head over to the Lake of Rage and go swimming with the Magikarp. That had been the whole reason for their trip to the Johto Region, at least, but Haruka had gotten caught up in spending time with Nagisa. What he had forgotten was that Nagisa had a special way of roping people in, climbing and clamouring all over them until fighting back seemed like more of an inconvenience than just going along with his wishes. As much as he cares for his friend, it was not a mistake that he would make again.

He sighs. “Fine.”

“Thank you!” Nagisa launches towards him, so caught up in his excitement that he accidentally sinks an elbow into Haruka’s stomach.

“Oof!”

“Heh, sorry Haru-chan.”

 

\--

 

The moment that Haruka steps into the Pokémon Day Care, something small and green weaves around his ankles, coming to a stop in front of him and nuzzling against his shin. Umi takes one step closer, tail brushing against the back of his knees in what Haruka knows to be a possessive gesture and despite his confusion, he breathes out a light laugh. Which then turns into a full blown chuckle when he sees the way that Umi’s eyes widen as they land on the slight little Leafeon, ears perking up in attention.

“Brownie!”

The Leafeon – Brownie, it seems – looks up sharply, a happy noise escaping her as another person ambles into view. Umi juts his lower jaw out in a pout and Haruka rests one hand lightly on his head, rubbing his thumb between his ears in a placating manner. 

The Leafeon runs away as quickly as she appeared, and although Umi looks like he wants to give chase, he sits on the ground and leans against Haruka’s thigh, whining pitifully. Haruka laughs softly again, lowering his voice so that it stays between them when he teasingly says, “It’s rude to stare.”

“Brownie, why did you run off like tha – oh, hello!”

Haruka finally looks up; his eyes first find Brownie and then catch on the hand resting gently behind her ears, carrying up until he is staring into the brightest green that he has ever seen in his entire life. It’s like a mixture of dew-kissed spring leaves and peridot and, as strange as it sounds, sunshine. He feels as if he is staring straight into the sun, and that somehow, the sun is staring straight back, sending warmth directly into his bloodstream and spreading it throughout his body until it finally culminates into a soft pink blush that dusts just over the back of his neck. He blinks, and then blinks again when he realizes that this new person is staring at him, eyebrows drawn together in a look of intense concentration. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, scratching at the underside of his chin with his thumb, “but you look really familiar. Have you come in here before?”

“No,” Haruka says dumbly. He feels like he can barely remember his own name right now, yet knows without a doubt that he would never be able to forget this man. They’ve only just met but he is already burned into his brain. Seared into his memory, settling amongst the scar tissue and leaving behind little else but the most delicious kind of pain, a steady thrum against his temple.

“Oh. Well, must have just been a dream then,” the man says lightly, corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a gentle smile. “So, how may I help you?”

For the first time, Haruka notices the long green apron draped across the man’s body, tapering at the waist in a way that accentuates his impressive stature. His mouth goes dry.  

He watches as Brownie nuzzles her cheek into the man’s large palm, as he whispers something to her that makes her tail snake around his legs in a show of affection, her soft purr conveying nothing but happiness as she bounces on the balls of her feet. He watches as the man crouches down in front of her, tickles under her chin and presses a kiss to the smooth curl on her head, and sees pure love reflected back at him in those tawny eyes. And then Haruka comes to a conclusion.

He’s perfect. This man is perfect. 

And all at once, Haruka realizes that his grandmother had been right. The big things did happen unexpectedly, quickly, within the tread of a single heartbeat. He had always believed her, of course, but had never really seen it happen until right now. Until this very moment, when he manages to catch a glimpse of the man’s nametag and realizes that no word has ever fit as perfectly on his tongue as TACHIBANA does now. Until this very moment when he finds that, despite having only heard it once in his entire life, he craves the sound of Tachibana’s laugh, would do anything just to hear it just one more time. And then another, and another and another until it feels like it would be possible for Haruka to wrap himself up in it and fall asleep.

“Umm…excuse me?”

Haruka blinks, breaking out of his thoughts just in time to hear Umi snigger. There is a familiar message clear in his eyes  _(it’s rude to stare)_  and Haru nudges him gently with his knee, frowning down at him before clearing his throat. “Rei’s Granbull. I need to pick her up.”

“Rei…ah, Ryuugazaki Rei, the Gym Leader of Goldenrod City?” 

Haruka nods.

Tachibana bites his lip. “Ah, well…I don’t think that I can just  _give_  her to you. You see, we don’t really  _know_  you…?” His voice rises like he’s asking a question; Haruka curls his hand into a fist and squeezes tightly, as if that would somehow calm the erratic beats of his heart. “I’m sorry, I hope that this hasn’t been an inconvenience.”

“It’s fine,” Haruka says. Umi cuts him a glare that he steadfastly ignores, choosing instead to pull a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Silently, he hands it Tachibana, who then quickly flips it open and reads what has been hastily scrawled across the page. Haruka himself did not bother seeing what the note said; his task had been to pick up the Granbull and then take her back to the Gym, and trying to decipher Nagisa’s handwriting would surely have been too troublesome, anyway. 

“Haruka?”

He shifts his gaze back to the man in front of him and is met with a smile so blinding that he feels as if his breath has been knocked clean out of his chest. Somehow, miraculously, he is able to speak without stammering. “Yes?” 

“Just checking,” Tachibana says, waving the piece of paper gently through the air. He smiles, cheeks dimpling, and Haruka turns away, trying to hide the hitch of his breath. “Well, if Nagisa says that you’re okay, I suppose that I can release Granbull to you. Please wait here a moment.” He sends another smile Haruka’s way and then rounds the corner, disappearing through a door tucked away in the back. He reappears within two minutes, cradling a Pokéball in his hands as if it were a precious gemstone, thumbs stroking absentminded patterns against the vibrant red plastic. “Here we are!”

He moves to extend his hand, but his elbow knocks against the decorative vase sitting on the counter. Both Haruka and Tachibana watch with wide eyes as it wobbles once, then twice, before finally toppling over the edge, heading straight for the floor. It appears as if moving in slow motion and Haruka, knowing that he would never be able to catch it in time, tenses his shoulders as he prepares for the inevitable crash. But Umi jumps forward right at the last second and absorbs the impact; the vase settles on his back and slides down his tail, coming to a gentle stop right at Haruka’s feet. 

He bends to pick it up. “Thank you.”

Umi preens and angles his head forward, looking for some affection. But just as Haruka is about to reach out, Brownie beats him to the punch. She leaps forward and burrows her face into the flukes around Umi’s neck, giggling musically as she does so. Umi’s tail flicks back and forth, whapping Haruka on the thigh, and he can do little else but hold the vase out to Tachibana, both hands curled protectively around the base.

“Trade?”

Tachibana’s face softens. “Of course. Thank you so much, you really saved me.” He hands over the Pokéball before taking the vase, calloused palms sliding over Haruka’s fingers in a way that sends electricity shooting through the latter’s veins. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d broken Tamura-san’s favourite vase.”

“Umi is the one who did all of the hard work.” Haruka shrugs. He glances over to where Umi and Brownie have settled on the ground, talking amongst themselves. The sight makes him smile, nothing more than a tiny pull of his mouth, but Umi seems to sense his happiness because he chooses that exact moment to look up, deep purple eyes shining brightly. “But I think he did all of that just to get Brownie’s attention.”

“Well, at least it seems to have worked!” Tachibana scratches the back of his head, fingers catching in his sandy hair. “She’s a little bit stubborn, but it looks like he managed to win her over.”

Haruka nods. “He can be a bit single-minded in that regard.”

“It’s pretty cute.”

“Yeah,” Haruka snorts, the sound soft. He worries the edge of his lip as Tachibana smiles, shifts his attention so that he is staring resolutely at the Pokémon before them rather than the blinding sight to his left. “It can be.”

The Pokéball suddenly feels heavy in his hands and Haruka’s grip tightens, knuckles turning white with the strain. He wants to return Rei’s Granbull to him and then find out if Nagisa had done this on purpose. He wants to go swimming in the Lake of Rage with Umi like he had been supposed to do, wants to submerge himself in the water and let his mind wander free as he allows his body to do the same. He wants to stand here beside Tachibana forever, unable to shake the feeling of rightness, of  _belonging_ , that continues to wash over him with every passing minute. He wants to see his grandmother again; to hold her close and clasp her hands and tell her that she was right, that he had listened to her advice for his whole life and now suddenly, on a day when he had least expected it, his entire world had been shaken to its very core, picked up and then set down again, changing into something else before his very eyes and although he has no idea what is to come, he knows that it cannot be anything else but amazing.

Instead, he lets out a low whistle. Tachibana startles, broken out of his thoughts, but Umi gets to his feet immediately and trots over, tail dragging low against the ground. He comes to a stop beside Haruka but barely looks at him, choosing instead to try and get Brownie to join him. She sniffs from her place on the floor but gets to her feet all the same; Tachibana holds out one hand and she goes straight for him, nipping at his fingers with her teeth.

“We should get going,” Haruka says needlessly. He takes one step back, trying to ignore the way his heart lurches at the thought of leaving. Almost like it is reaching out, trying to make a connection to Tachibana’s, and he hates himself for feeling this way. It’s ridiculous – they’ve only just met, barely know anything about each other, and yet that does not stop Haruka from wanting. Wanting to get to know him better, wanting to be with him, wanting to spend as much time by his side as possible. Wanting to find out his first name, at the very least.

“Of course.” Tachibana nods. “I’ll see you around then, Haruka.”

“Haru.” Another step back. “Just Haru is fine.”

“Ah.” His face lights up in a smile. “Haru, then.”

Haruka rolls his lips inward. “Alright. Bye.”

It is only once he has stepped outside that he feels as if he can breathe again. He shrinks down the Pokéball and stuffs it into his pocket, shaking his head at his own stupidity. It’s unlike Haruka to lose himself over a guy like this and a part of him almost feels ashamed, completely embarrassed that all it took was one smile and he was suddenly head over heels. But a bigger part of him does not seem to care; a bigger part of him is already wondering when he will get a chance to see Tachibana again, what he should do so that he can have a reason to stop by the Day Care without having to actually leave any of his Pokémon behind. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries to take his mind off of the situation, but nothing seems to work. No matter what he does, he cannot get the images out of his head: green eyes and sun-kissed skin and dimples so deep that he just wants to swim in them. His heart feels light enough to float away, despite the boulder that has lodged itself somewhere low in his chest.

Umi whines at his feet, gaze flicking back and forth between Haruka and the Day Care. He looks as if he is torn between moving on and going back inside, as if he has left his heart behind in a shelter made cinnamon and warmth, and is not quite sure where to go from here.

Haruka sighs. He knows the feeling.

 

\--

 

“Wow, look at this one!”

Nagisa rushes over to a pair of neon pink shorts, tracing his fingers over the little penguin that is stitched onto the pocket. “Isn’t this so cute?”

The pants are bright, blinding in a way that makes Haruka wish he owned a pair of shades. Still, he nods his assent and taps the tip of his finger against his thumbnail in a staccato rhythm. 

Nagisa tracks the movement, eyebrows shooting up high before he manages to school his expression. Surprise melts away into indifference as he continues to browse the clothes rack. “Ne, Haru-chan?” 

“Hmm.”

“Are you okay?”

Haruka frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he drapes the pink shorts over his arm and then holds up a sequined shirt for approval; Haruka wrinkles his nose and Nagisa sighs, hooking it back on the rack before carrying on, “you asked me to come shopping with you. Which is fine, Haru-chan! You know that Goldenrod City Department Store is my favourite because they always have the best clothes and the best equipment and the cutest little outfits for my Pokémon and I always want to shop here whenever I get the chance! But,” and he lowers his voice, so uncharacteristically serious that Haruka finds himself leaning forward, straining to hear what Nagisa has to say, “Haru-chan, you hate crowds. You never go shopping, or at least never in a place as huge as this. So what changed?”

Broad shoulders and brown hair flash through Haruka’s mind and he grits his teeth, shifting his attention to a pair of mustard yellow pants. “It’s nothing like that,” he says, and tenses when Nagisa narrows his eyes. 

“Did something happen yesterday?”

He pulls on a loose thread. “No.”

Nagisa studies him so thoroughly that Haruka feels as though he is under a microscope, and then has the brief thought that they have both been spending too much time with Rei. He doesn’t even think that he would be surprised if Nagisa were to push invisible glasses up his nose and strike an exaggerated pose; he bites his lip and looks away, more amused than anything else, and Nagisa takes this as an invitation to start shooting out his list of theories.

“Did you accidentally drop all of your clothes so far down into the Lake of Rage that you needed to come back and get a whole new wardrobe? Or were you just sick of your old stuff and wanted a change? Oh, oh! Did a whole bunch of Pokémon creep down from the trees and steal all of your things – is that why you don’t have Umi-chan with you right now?!” 

Nagisa’s eyes are so wide that Haruka can see tears gathering at the corners and he sighs, rests one fist amidst the blond curls and shakes his head, the action heavy with affection.

“Umi is fine,” he says. “I left him with Rei because he hates this place almost as much as I do.”

“Then why are we here?” Nagisa whines. Residual tears cling to his eyelashes and he wipes them away roughly, his frustration mounting. “Haru-chan, not to be dramatic but you’re kind of scaring me. You don’t like shopping and you never go anywhere without Umi-chan so what. Is going. On?”

The following silence is deafening. All of the background noise – the chatter of nearby patrons, the sounds of Pokémon asking their trainers for food or bows or water, even the  _ding_  of the elevator as it passes by their floor for the thirtieth time – fades away as Haruka takes a good look at Nagisa. He’s upset, that much is easy to see, but it is also more than that. He may have been able to wipe away his tears but the glimmer of worry holds true in his eyes, making them seem even shinier than normal, and if he had reached into Haruka’s chest, through the blood and bone and sinew, and wrapped his hands around his heart, it would have hurt less than seeing him look so defeated. 

And as much as Haruka hates to admit it, Nagisa has every right to be feeling that way. Haruka was the one who asked him to go out, despite knowing that the invitation alone would have been more than enough to raise suspicion. And then every time that Nagisa tried to ask him about it, Haruka had been the one to dodge the question, deflecting the attention back onto Nagisa with much more fervor than ever shown before. Nobody would blame Nagisa for wondering, and even less people would blame him for worrying. Haruka knew this, had really been expecting Nagisa to crack all along, and yet he can not stop the clogging of his throat, voice barely a whisper as he tries to explain. 

“There’s this guy.”

Everything goes quiet for a moment, so still that they can surely hear a pin drop, and then Nagisa’s expression clears, scowl making way for the curve of a sly smile. “A guy?”

Haruka nods.

His smile widens, excitement rolling off of him in waves as he bounces on the balls of his feet. The hideous pink shorts slip down his arm, but he catches them before any damage can be done, hoisting them up and across his shoulder instead. “I knew it! I told Rei-chan that you and Mako-chan would hit it off but he didn’t listen. He said that it was none of our business anyway, but I knew that you two were just perfect for each other!”

Haruka grabs hold of his arm before he can bounce too far away, confusion creasing his forehead as he asks, “Mako-chan?”

“Huh?” Nagisa stops abruptly, elbow sending a stack of folded cargo pants off the table and onto the floor. He drops to his knees to gather them together, though he does not take his eyes off of Haruka; the attention makes his skin prickle and he crouches down to help, anything to occupy his hands so that Nagisa does not notice the tremor racing through his entire body. “If not Mako-chan, then who?”

His cheeks heat up in a blush. “This guy. From the Day Care. Tachibana.” The name is sweet on his tongue, the perfect blend of all his favourite flavours, and he mashes his lips together to try and preserve the taste. 

Nagisa’s expression clears, though he does wiggle his eyebrows in a way that makes Haruka regret ever inviting him out in the first place. “Yup, that’s Mako-chan! Tachibana Makoto. He’s actually from Floraroma Town, all the way over in Sinnoh, but he came over to help Tamura-san with the Day Care a couple years ago.”

Haruka hums, turning this new information over in his head. He knows that it’s not unusual to travel between regions – he is proof enough of that – but he still finds it interesting that Tachibana –  _Makoto_  – would move all that way just to help an old woman out. The distance between Goldenrod City and Floraroma Town is a big one, if he remembers correctly, and surely Makoto must have left family behind. It must be lonely, he thinks, to be all by himself in a completely different place. He knows the feeling too well; it is, after all, why Haruka travels whenever he gets the chance.

Nagisa nods and gets to his feet, settling the cargo pants back in their place on the table. “I’ll go try these on,” he says, pulling the shorts from around his shoulder, “and when I get back, you can tell me  _all_  about what Mako-chan did to sweep you off your feet!” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner, barking out a loud laugh when he sees the dip in Haruka’s brow. “Don’t worry, Haru-chan! I’ll keep this just between us – I won’t even tell Rei-chan!”

Which means that he will definitely tell Rei. Not that Haruka minds; he’s known Ryuugazaki Rei just as long as he has Nagisa, and somehow, it feels wrong to keep this a secret from him. 

Haruka starts to say, “I don’t – ” before his cell phone rings, the vibrations so harsh that they seem to punch through the air with an unrelenting vigour. Nagisa laughs again, disappearing behind the curtain with an airy call of, “Tell Rin-chan I said hi!” thrown over his shoulder, and Haruka barely has a chance to wonder how Nagisa knows who is calling before he remembers that he had set a specific ringtone for Rin, the vibration pattern modeled after the theme tune of that one summer movie where the Sharpedo terrorizes tourists visiting a beachside town. Haruka is not one for movies himself, but Rin has set him down to watch it enough times that he is probably able to recite the entire thing word for word, complete with not only the memorization of the musical score, but also every sound effect thrown in as well.

He sometimes wonders why he puts up with that sort of thing, but Rin is the best friend that he’s got, so he supposes that it goes with the territory.

“Rin.” Haruka is barely able to disguise his tired sigh, and he frowns at Rin’s laughter. “What is it?”

“What, I can’t just call to see how your trip is going?” Rin sounds like he is trying for offended, but his barely-there giggles make it hard to believe. “How is the Lake of Rage, anyway? I feel like I haven’t been in  _ages_ , maybe I should take a little break too and head down myself.”

“Oh,” Haruka bites his lip. “I actually got tied up in Goldenrod. So. I haven’t made it yet.”

Silence.

“…Rin?”

 _“What?”_  He sounds far more disbelieving than Haruka thinks is warranted. “But Haru, we need you back here now. This guy got through, Shigino…something – I forgot his name, but you need to come back. He’s waiting for you.”

“Kisumi,” comes another voice, a little bit rougher than Rin’s, and Haruka sighs. Of course Sousuke would be there – wherever Rin goes, he goes. The two of them are more or less joined at the hip these days and though Haruka is happy for them, there are times when he can’t shake the feeling of loneliness pressing down on him, drawing his chest tight and making it hard to breathe. It never lasts long – he is always able to push it aside and find something else to focus on – but he cannot help but notice that lately, it has been happening more often. He tries not to think about what that means, tries to ignore the way that meeting Makoto the day before has made his chest feel as light as it has ever been, threatening to pull him up, up and away, straight into a sun that is both warm and soft in a way that causes his hands to shake.

“Not now Sousuke, I’m on the phone.”

“His name. Shigino Kisumi.” Sousuke lets out a breath and Haruka can almost picture him scratching his forehead in frustration. “But Rin is right, Haru. Sorry that you never made it to the Lake of Rage, but we need you back by tomorrow.” He pauses, words riding on a light laugh as he adds, “I bet that Umi is pissed, isn’t he?”

Haruka remembers Umi pressing his nose against Brownie’s; recalls the intimate bow of his head as he did so, the way that their tails tangled together loosely, and has to fight a smile. “You’d be surprised.”

Nagisa chooses that moment to come barreling back to his side, knocking their elbows together. It is difficult to tell which is brighter: the neon pink shorts settled low on his hips or his beaming smile, mouth pulled so wide that he has to squint. “Haru-chan! What do you think?” 

“They’re good,” he says. His words are sincere; the shorts might not be Haruka’s style and it’s true that the colour is intense, maybe even a little garish, but he is hard-pressed to care if it makes Nagisa smile this much.

“Nagisa?”

“Ah, Rin-chan!” Nagisa rests his hands on his lips, leaning forward so that he can talk into the phone easier. “Did Haru-chan tell you about Mako-chan?”

Haruka goes rigid. “Nagisa.”  

He pays no attention to the warning, mouth going a mile a minute as he clasps his hands together in excitement. “He works at the Day Care and he’s tall and nice and really funny, even though I don’t think that he means to be. Haru-chan met him yesterday and it was love at first sight!” He trails off into a dreamy sigh, pink eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Rin chokes, sputtering loudly, and then the sound of someone hitting his back comes through the phone. “Shit, Haru! When you said that you got tied up in Goldenrod, I didn’t think that you meant literally!”

Nagisa howls with laughter; Haruka thinks that he may actually be crying.

“Stop it,” he grits out. He would be more surprised if there  _wasn’t_  steam coming out of his ears, he’s so embarrassed. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Wow.” Sousuke sounds oddly impressed. “Go Haru.” 

“Nothing happened,” Haruka insists, and is surprised when his friends finally stop laughing. He blinks at the sudden silence, stomach churning.

“Shit Haru,” Rin repeats, voice much softer. “You don’t have to sound so sad.”

“I’m not,” he says, but one look at Nagisa tells him that he’s not fooling anyone. “Look, Rin, Sousuke, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you soon.” He cuts the call before they can say anything more and tries to ignore the heavy weight of Nagisa’s troubled gaze. He’s hardly successful; his shoulders tense, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and his fist closes in on itself so tightly that the bones shift under his skin. Haruka turns around just in time to see Nagisa look away, the twinkle missing from his eyes as his face creases with worry.

“Haru-chan,” he says, breathing deeply. He takes one slow step forward, but Haruka raises his hand and stops him in his tracks.

“Nagisa.” He slips his phone back into his pocket. “I need your help.”

 

\--

 

Haruka walks into the Day Care the next day armed with a plan – and some flowers.

“Haru-chan, trust me,” Nagisa had said. “Rei-chan always gets really happy when I bring him flowers! His face gets so red and he trips over his words but he keeps on smiling for the rest of the day, so I know that he loves them. Mako-chan will too!” He swung the shopping bag between them and it knocked against Haruka’s hip, giving him pause. He looked down, eyebrow quirked, but Nagisa simply smiled as he went on, “And I know the perfect place too! Ne, ne, Haru-chan! Meet me outside Rei-chan’s Gym tomorrow and I’ll take you there, okay? Then you can pick the perfect flowers for Mako-chan!”

And true to his word, Nagisa had been waiting for Haruka bright and early the next morning. He could see him leaning against the Gym, legs crossed at the ankles as he chatted animatedly with another trainer. Haruka eyed the pair warily as he approached – though Nagisa was as energetic as always, his companion seemed to be more reserved. Or rather, he had looked as if he was trying to keep his cool. Hands were clenched at his sides and despite the distance, Haruka had been able to see the tick in his jaw, almost as if he had been grinding his teeth together in order to keep his mouth shut.

Haruka sighed, wondering what sort of trouble Nagisa could have gotten himself into now. One glance to his left confirmed that Umi was thinking the same thing and then, with another sigh, Haruka had stepped forward and into the fray.

“Nagisa,” he said, and drew back as two sets of eyes snapped to him. 

“Haru-chan!” Nagisa pushed off of the wall and grabbed onto his arm. His Joltik, jostled by the movement, jumped from his shoulder and landed cleanly on Umi’s head, tipping forward so that he could rest more comfortably. “Haru-chan, you have to tell Shii-chan that he stands no chance against Rei-chan! He’s one of the best, there’s no way that he’s going to lose!”

Haruka suddenly understood the situation more clearly; Nagisa had a bad habit of accosting every trainer that approached the Gym and singing Rei’s praises. There was nothing wrong with that in itself – it was easy to see that there was something more than just friendship between the two and besides, Nagisa had never been one to try and hide how proud he was of his loved ones. But Rei had been getting complaints and although he knew that Nagisa meant no harm, he had still asked for it to stop. 

It would just be easier, he had said, though he’d seemed pained at the time. And Nagisa’s hurt expression had definitely not made it any easier on him, Haruka was sure.

So with this in mind, he was gentle in resting his hand atop Nagisa’s head. Blonde hair peeked out through his spread fingers and Haruka bit the inside of his lip in amusement, swiping his thumb across one furrowed eyebrow and smoothing it out in the process. “Nagisa.”

“But Haru-chan! Rei-chan is incredible!” 

“He is,” Haruka agreed. “But you know how he feels about you doing this. Don’t shake their confidence just because you want Rei to win.”

“Rei-chan  _will_  win,” Nagisa insisted, although he had relaxed, having seemingly taken Haruka’s words to heart.

“Of course,” Haruka nodded. “I believe in Rei too.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Shii-chan spoke up. He had kept quiet the whole time – first too flustered, and then too confused, to really say much of anything. But then he had taken a good look at Haruka and jerked back, mouth falling open in disbelief. “W-wait a minute. Are you…?”

Haruka just stared back impassively.

Shii-chan had whimpered, dark eyes opened wide, and then promptly fallen into a formal bow. “It is an honour to meet – ”

“Ah, sorry Shii-chan!” Nagisa interrupted, looping an arm through Haruka’s and physically pulling him away. “Haru-chan and me have some serious business to attend to. But good luck against Rei-chan, he’s really strong!”

Shii-chan was left gaping behind them as they all moved away. Joltik squeaked – his version of a laugh – and even Umi let out a soft snort, clearly amused by the look on his face. Truthfully, Haruka was as well; he allowed a small smile to curve his lips as he looked down at Nagisa, shaking his head with an air of fondness.

“That was rude,” he commented lightly.

Nagisa puffed out his cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. Rei-chan will beat him and he’ll forget all about you.” He paused for a beat and then smiled sheepishly. “Well, in theory.”

Haruka had shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” he echoed. He took another moment to gather his thoughts before biting the bullet. “So, about these flowers…?”

And that is how Haruka finds himself with a bouquet of sunflowers hidden behind his back as he approaches the counter, heart beating out of his chest. Tachibana – or Makoto, he thinks, and if Haruka had thought that  _Tachibana_  fit perfectly on his tongue, nothing could have ever prepared him for just how right  _Makoto_  feels – turns around as he gets closer, an easy smile blooming across his face as his eyes cloud over with warmth. Haruka swears that he can feel it all the way down to the tips of his toes, tightens his grip on the bouquet behind his back and cringes at the sound of crinkling cellophane. 

Luckily, Makoto doesn’t seem to notice. “Ah, Haru!”

“Hello,” he says.

“It’s good to see you again.” Makoto leans forward on the counter, resting his weight on his forearms. His face is right there, close enough for Haruka to see each individual freckle, and he gulps, tries not to notice the way his muscles flex under the skin, tightening as Makoto idly plays with his fingers. He tears his eyes away in an attempt to focus and just manages to catch the tail end of what Makoto is saying. “ – brings you back here so soon?”

“What?” Haruka blinks. “Oh. Umi.”

“Umi?”

He nods. “Umi.” 

Had Haruka been able to move his hands, he would have gestured over to where Umi and Brownie sit close together, their paws overlapping as he licks her cheek. Instead, he ends up nudging his head in that general direction, hoping that Makoto will take the hint and look over. Some of his hair slips down his forehead and catches in his eyelashes; he tries to blink it away but it’s stuck, and he can’t move it aside without dropping the flowers behind his back, does not know how to keep a one-handed hold on the bouquet without accidentally letting it slip into sight. He frowns and tries again, but to no avail, and is just about to begrudgingly give up when a peal of laughter rings through the air.

Makoto sounds delighted, voice honey as he says, “Haru-chan, let me help you.” 

And then Haruka barely has a chance to catch his breath before a warm palm is cradling his cheek. Makoto brushes the pad of his thumb gently across the curve of Haruka’s eye, setting his hair free, and then that same thumb dips a little bit lower, a stinging firebrand against the apple of his cheek. 

“Eyelash,” Makoto explains, pulling back, and Haruka has to fight the urge to grab his hand, flowers be damned, and keep it pressed against his face. To turn his cheek into Makoto’s palm, to lean into the touch and use it to ground him in this moment; Haruka and Makoto, the only two people in the entire world. But that’s ridiculous, completely and utterly so, and Haruka forces himself to take a step back, the sunflowers heavy against his thighs as he puts some much needed space between them.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and turns his face away to hide the blush that spreads across the bridge of his nose.

Makoto just smiles. “Of course, Haru.” He holds his fist out, thumb angled so that it rests in front of Haruka’s mouth. When he just stares at him blankly, Makoto huffs out a laugh and wiggles his thumb. “You have to blow,” he explains, the tips of his ears slowly turning a soft pink. He coughs, clears his throat. “It’s the rule of stray eyelashes: blow them off and make a wish. If you keep it to yourself, then it’s bound to come true.”

But he’s wrong. Wishes do not just  _come true;_  if they did, then Haruka’s grandmother would still be alive right now, welcoming him home with one of her secret smiles. If they did, then Haruka would have had friends to play with while growing up – people who were interested in him and cared about him, who actually wanted to spend time with him. If wishes ever  _really_  came true, then Haruka would never wake up in the middle of the night, cold and alone and  _yearning_  for something that he does not even fully understand himself. He just knows that there is a hole inside of him, a gaping chasm that feels as if it is getting bigger every day. Every minute, even, but as much as he tries, Haruka does not know how to close it.

So no, wishes don’t come true – he’s held onto that for years, carved it deep into the tissue of his heart so that it would be impossible to forget.

Yet somehow…he wants to try. 

Makoto  _makes_  him want to try.

So Haruka takes a deep breath and leans forward, eyelids fluttering shut as the words string themselves together in his mind. He focuses hard, repeating them again and again and again, as if simply doing so would be enough to somehow will them into existence, and then he just…blows. Nothing more than a tiny puff of air, but Makoto makes a strangled sound low in his throat and that in itself is enough to make Haruka open his eyes.

“Was that okay?” he asks.

Makoto nods his head, swiping his tongue along the swell of his lower lip. When he tries to answer, it comes out more like a squeak; Haruka rolls his lips inward to try and fight a smile.  “Uh-huh.”

Red creeps up the back of Makoto’s neck, climbing steadily until his cheeks are flushed and rosy. It makes Haruka want more, makes him open his mouth and tease, “Are  _you_  okay?” 

“Me?” Makoto balks. “Yes, yeah, I’m fine. Good. Great, actually.”

Haruka quirks an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Makoto clears his throat again, drums his fingers against the counter in a way that makes Haruka think that something is up. But he doesn’t get a chance to call him out on it before Makoto is taking a step backwards, thumb hooked over his shoulder. “But I’ll be right back. I’ve just got to go and give everyone their lunch.” 

Haruka nods.

And Makoto’s eyes soften, crinkling around the edges. “I’m okay, Haru. I promise. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

He waits for Haruka to nod again before disappearing out the back door. Brownie looks up at his departure, getting to her feet and running after him; she leaves Umi sitting on the floor alone and it’s almost comical how his jaw drops open, obviously offended by her actions. His ears droop, just brushing against the flukes around his neck, and he drags himself over to Haruka, whining as he presses his nose against back of his thigh.

“Hey.” Haruka crouches. He rests the bouquet on the ground beside him, freeing his hands to cradle Umi’s face. “She’s just hungry. She’ll come back.”

Umi shifts closer and rests his nose against Haruka’s shoulder, letting out a quiet sound of sadness. Not for the first time, Haruka marvels at how quickly Umi managed to fall for Brownie. They’d barely spent any time together and yet it seemed as if he was gone. Done for, unable to find anybody else that he could ever want more.

And then his eyes fall on the cluster of sunflowers resting at his feet and he has to shake his head. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

Umi backs up just enough to lick his chin, and Haruka takes that as a show of agreement. 

“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs. He stands up and rolls his shoulders, trying to work out his nervous energy. He knows that he has to give Makoto the flowers – he  _wants_  to give Makoto the flowers. He  _wants_  to see the expression on his face when he pulls away the paper and sees what is inside, wants to hear the sharp intake of breath that means that Makoto is overwhelmed, but in a good way. In a great way, maybe; in a way that means that he’s happy. And more than any of that, Haruka wants to be the one to give it to him. He wants to be the reason for that happiness, wants to do whatever it takes so that Makoto’s smile will never falter.

But nothing is ever that simple. Because no matter how badly Haruka  _wants_  to give Makoto the flowers, the problem is that he  _doesn’t know how_ to do so _._ The thought of standing there in suspense while Makoto takes the bouquet from him, unsure if he will like the flowers, not knowing what to do with his hands, with his body in general – it makes his stomach fly straight up into his chest and battle his heart for territory. It makes his lungs constrict painfully, like there is some sort of invisible force tying them together in the most complicated of knots, cutting off his air flow until it is impossible to breathe. It’s too overwhelming a feeling, and one that he can barely sort out when he is by himself, let alone with the subject of his confusion playing audience. It’ll be too much; the thought alone makes his heart pound, pulse racing in his fingertips.

Haruka combs his fingers through his hair and lets out a deep breath. “Why is this so difficult?” 

Umi doesn’t reply. Instead, his eyes light up and he nudges the side of the counter with his tail, scrunching his nose with a newfound energy. Haruka stares, eyebrows drawing together as he tries to figure out what has Umi so riled up; just a minute ago, he was nearly heartbroken at the thought of Brownie rushing outside and now, his smile is so wide that Haruka cannot help but think that it must hurt. He gently lifts one hand and rests it against Umi’s face, trying to mold his expression back into a familiar one. He’s been with Umi for his whole life and never once seen him look like this; to say that he’s worried would be an understatement.

“Umi,” he says slowly, leaning a touch closer, “what is it?”

He yips loudly and Haruka jerks back. “What?” he asks again, and is surprised when Umi looks up at the vase sitting innocently on the counter. It’s a little bit further inland than it was a few days ago – probably to avoid another accident, he muses – but there is nothing special about it. He glances at Umi, eyebrows raised, and is surprised at the look of frustration that Umi sends his way.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he confesses, and only understands when Umi looks pointedly at the vase, then the bouquet, and then back again. Haruka’s eyes widen as he slowly puts the pieces together, dropping a delicate kiss onto the end of Umi’s nose. “That’s a good idea.”

Umi preens happily at the compliment, more than willing to fill the vase with water once Haruka takes it down. He works quietly, unwraps the bouquet and starts to arrange them carefully, smoothing out the yellow petals between his fingers and making sure that the stalks do not fold over the rim of the vase. He wants this to look perfect for Makoto. The flowers themselves are a small gesture, but he wants it to be meaningful. He wants to make them look as beautiful as possible, wants Makoto to see that they are not just sunflowers, but a representation for how Haruka sees him – bold and bright and beautiful but still soft around the edges; someone naturally able to stand tall on his own, but still someone that he wants to protect. Someone that he wants to take care of.

The thought makes him blush, and he busies himself with settling the vase back on the countertop, careful to put it exactly where it had been before. Haruka trails his fingertip across the edge of one last petal and then takes a step back, turning to Umi. “What do you think?”

He nods his head happily, winding circles around Haruka’s feet and pushing his head into an open palm, looking for affection. Haruka complies, takes great care in finding the spot that Umi loves behind his ears and scratching gently. He gathers up the discarded paper and cellophane in his free hand and stuffs it into his bag – there, now it looks as if Haruka had nothing at all to do with the flowers. He knows the truth, and of course Makoto will as well, but there is no need for anybody else to know where they came from. And it doesn’t matter anyway; the sunflowers are only for Makoto. Nobody else.

“Ah, Haru – sorry to keep you waiting!” Makoto pokes his head through the doorway, eyes searching the room until they land on Haruka. He looks tired – far more so than when he’d left – and there are smudges of dirt dotting the hem of his apron, but his eyes light up when he sees that Haruka is still there. “Tamura-san made her special Poké Puffs for today, so everyone ended up going a little bit crazy and it took a lot longer to feed them than usual.” He scratches his cheek. “Brownie is outside eating with the others, but I made sure to save one for Umi…if he wanted to go and join her?” His voice pitches up into a question as he presents Umi with a little pink cake, the top covered in a whorl of whipped cream. There is a little pink star sticking out of the top as well, though it seems to fall to the side under the weight of all the decoration. 

“Thank you,” Haruka says quietly. He slants a small smile before taking the Poké Puff from Makoto, trying not to destroy the delicate pastry. Umi crowds him immediately, reaching for it with an upward tilt of his nose, and Haruka lets him snatch it straight out of his hand. “But we should go.”

Makoto’s shoulders slump. “Really?”

“Mmm,” Haruka nods. He taps his fingers against Umi’s head, trying to draw him out the door. He’s disappointed in himself for chickening out at the last minute, but his whole body is shaking at just the  _thought_  of Makoto noticing the flowers and he needs to get out of here now _._  He doesn’t think that he will be able to survive the gratitude on Makoto’s face when he sees the gift; he could barely keep himself together when he saw how happy something as simple as him  _not leaving_ had made Makoto earlier. Surely this would warrant something more than that, right? The thought makes him feel as though he is going to melt into a puddle of goo, right here, right now. He really needs to leave.

And he almost makes it before Makoto calls out to him, though he sounds a little different. Quieter, somehow, maybe flatter than Haruka is used to hearing. “Haru?”

Haruka turns, raises an eyebrow. Umi tilts his head, still chewing the last of his Poké Puff.

Makoto picks at his fingernails nervously before rushing out, “I do hope to see you again!” all in one breath, words tripping over each other as they tumble from his lips. He jerks back, almost as if surprised by his own words, and drops his gaze to the counter, the tips of his ears darkening into the pink that Haruka has already decided is his new favourite colour.

“Okay,” he says simply, but amusement is evident in his tone and Makoto looks up sharply. His ears are still pink and there is a dip between his eyebrows that Haruka really does not like the look of, but then green catches on yellow and everything changes. The air itself seems to buzz with energy, causing goose-bumps to rise along Haruka’s arms and he loses his breath at the way Makoto is looking at him. Reverently, like he cannot believe that he is even real, and Haruka can  _feel_  his heart being pulled in two different directions. This is the look that he was aiming for – Makoto looks so  _happy;_  his eyes are shining like he is trying not to cry and he keeps on staring at the sunflowers like he is afraid that they are going to disappear at any minute. But this is also the look he was afraid of, the one that has his heart beating erratically, the one that has turned his brain into mush just because he is on the receiving end of it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, feels like he cannot breathe, and it takes Makoto suddenly breaking out into an earnest smile for Haruka to find his footing again.

“They’re beautiful, Haru.” And he sounds so sincere that Haruka’s mouth goes dry. He tries to reply, but is unable to force anything passed his throat, thoughts turning to tumbleweeds before they can find their way out. Umi nudges his thigh impatiently and he swallows hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I’m glad that you like them,” he answers, voice so quiet that Makoto actually takes a step forward. Haruka counters with another step back, one foot halfway out the door. “They reminded me of you. That’s all.”

“Thank you.” Makoto brushes his fingers against the fuzzy middle, curling them down in delight. “I really do love them.”

“I’m glad,” he repeats, and then steps out into the sunlight. Umi trots beside him, mewing happily, but Haruka can barely hear him over the pounding of his heart. His blood is pulsing in his ears, roaring loudly, and he feels as though he is underwater, senses heightened in the wake of exhilaration. 

Makoto liked the flowers.

He  _liked_  them. 

The look on his face had been one that Haruka does not think he will ever be able to forget, and he suddenly finds himself wanting to see it again. To be the cause for Makoto to make such an expression – right now, in this moment, there is nothing that he wants more. 

He just needs to figure out how.

 

\--

 

Three days pass before Haruka goes back to the Day Care. He’s nervous, fingers pinched in the hem of his sweater as the door  _whooshes_  open, and when Makoto looks up at him and smiles, he feels his whole face flush red.

“Haru!” He straightens up, leaving his notebook and pen on the counter, and scratches the back of his head. He sounds happy enough, but there is a slight hesitation when he speaks, voice coming out stilted in a way that has Haruka pursing his lips in confusion. “It’s you!” He laughs a little oddly. “It’s been a while. What can I help you with?”

Feeling caught out, Haruka tugs on his sleeves. “Nothing. In particular.”

“Ah,” he nods. There is a beat of silence before Makoto adds, “Well, you look nice.” And then right after, as if it could somehow draw the attention away from the steam coming out of his ears, “Where’s Umi?”

It takes Haruka a moment to unpack all of that, the base of his neck heating up in embarrassment. He tugs on his earlobe, twisting the flesh around and around until the sudden rush of blood burns his fingers, and abruptly lets go when he notices Makoto’s eyes tracking the movement. “I left him at the Gym. He likes to play with Rei and Nagisa.”

“Ah,” Makoto nods again.

Haruka fiddles with the sleeves of his sweater and bites the inside of his cheek. Things are weird now – Makoto looks uncomfortable and the air around them is so heavy that the bouquet of sunflowers seems to be wilting, petals browning at the edges. But Haruka can’t figure out what is happening; did he do something wrong? Or maybe Makoto got tired of him, maybe he just does not know how to tell him that he does not want him coming around anymore. After all, it’s not like Haruka does anything other than distract him from his work. And Makoto is the type of person who is too nice – too  _good_  – to just blurt the truth out. He must be waiting for the right time to say it; without realizing, Haruka grips the hem of his sweater more tightly and looks away, clenching his jaw to try and keep his emotions in check. It’s a technique that he has perfected over the years and although he is no stranger to using it, he had hoped that this time would be different.

“Ne, Haru?”

He swallows, trying to prepare himself. “Yes?”

“You know,” Makoto says slowly, and Haruka looks at him; he is forcing his fingers into complicated shapes, folding and unfolding them just so that he has something to do with his hands. He seems nervous, the pinch in his brow tortured, and Haruka almost wants to back out of the building and save them both the trouble. But he stays in place, unable to tear his eyes away from Makoto struggling to get his words out properly, and feels oddly satisfied. It should be hard for him. It should be just as hard for him as it is for Haruka; he does not like to see Makoto upset, but it is only fair. “I’ve talked to Nagisa recently and he’s told me…well, Haru, if you’re busy, you don’t have to feel obligated to come and see me. If coming to the Day Care is a bother then just – please do not go out of your way just to come and see me!”

Haruka blinks. “What?”

He carries on, “If you don’t want to or it makes you uncomfortable, then you don’t have to. I did miss you, of course, for these past few days, but Haru, please don’t feel like you need to stop by if you don’t want to. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay!”

“Makoto,” Haruka shakes his head. “Stop. What are you talking about, what did Nagisa tell you?”

“Well,” he says, scratches the corner of his eye, “he said that you were busy. Because he said that there was something you  _wanted_  to do and something you  _needed_  to do, and that you were spending a lot of time on what you  _wanted_  to do and to please be patient with you. And so then I thought that maybe that was why you hadn’t come by in a few days – because you were doing something else and I was just the obligation. Not that I was expecting you or anything! But you’d stopped by a couple times before and you’d brought those flowers and Umi and Brownie really seemed to hit it off and I really – well, anyway,” he cuts himself off nervously and Haruka scrunches his nose, “That’s not important, I guess. I just thought that you had better things to do. Which is fine! And then you showed up today and I was so happy, Haru, but you looked so troubled when you came in that it seemed like you didn’t want to be here. So – ”

He stops when Haruka reaches out, clamps his hands down on Makoto’s wrists. “Makoto,” he says. “Listen…none of that is true.”

“What?” Makoto cocks his head to the side. “Are you sure?” 

He raises an eyebrow and Makoto smiles sheepishly, nods once before biting the cushion of his lip.

“Right. Sorry. So then…ah, never mind.”

And Haruka sighs because he knows what Makoto wants to ask and that is not a question he wants to answer. Or at least, he doesn’t want to tell him the whole story. Because how does he tell him that he’s spent the last three days shopping for newer, better clothes just in the hopes that he would notice? How would Haruka come clean about something like that; about wanting to impress Makoto so much that he’d willingly spent three days ducking in and out of the Goldenrod Department Store, arms laden with bags. It was bad enough when he’d had to call Nagisa for help again – his friend hadn’t stopped laughing for ten minutes straight when he’d asked, and then had spent the next half hour cooing that  _it is so cute that Haru-chan likes Mako-chan enough to get new clothes, right Rei-chan?_

Just remembering it makes his eye twitch.

But Makoto is obviously hurting about this and that alone is enough to make his decision for him. So with a sigh, Haruka explains, “I was shopping. I wanted some new clothes but I didn’t realize that it would take so long.” 

“Oh.” Makoto’s expression clears, save for the twinkle in his eyes. “So that was what you wanted to do, then? That makes more sense than whatever I was thinking.” He suddenly stills; groans and buries his face in his hands as he hunches his shoulders. “I’m sorry for overreacting, Haru-chan.”

Haruka thinks that he hears him mutter, “Gah! So embarrassing,” under his breath, and presses his lips together to hide a fond smile. He slowly reaches out and wraps his fingers around Makoto’s wrist once more, gently tugging until his hands fall away from his face. Then, cheeks ablaze, he looks to the side and tries to take refuge beneath the cover of his hair. “It’s fine.”

A pause. And then – 

“Okay,” Makoto says simply, reaches out to brush the pad of his thumb high across Haruka’s cheek. The touch is cool against his heated skin, and he is barely able to suppress his shiver.

And then just like that, the air seems to settle around them. Amazing how a misunderstanding like that can almost change everything, Haruka thinks, and has to smile at the dopey look that crosses Makoto’s face. He had been so tense before, mouth tight with worry, shoulders stiff and rigid, but now he looks perfectly at ease. It makes Haruka happy to see him this way, and the thought is embarrassing enough that he digs the tips of his fingers into his sleeves, holding them trapped against his palms. His knuckles turn white as he tries to tamp down this rush of emotion but nothing seems to help – his chest feels light and full, a mess of fizzling and sparkling and warmth that makes him think that there must be a fireworks show trapped inside his ribcage. And he can’t control them, can barely even get them to stop exploding long enough for him to catch his breath, he feels so overwhelmed. But none of that really matters because Makoto did not get tired of him. He does not want to leave him, and something like this should not make him this happy, but it does. It does, so he lets go of his sleeves and takes in a breath, holding it in amidst the sparklers and flames, and then slowly lets it out through his nose.

“Makoto,” he starts, waits until their eyes meet before continuing, “why were you asking Nagisa about me?”

Because that is the only piece of the puzzle that is missing. Haruka can understand where Makoto got his wires crossed – there was no way that he could possibly know about his playing phone tag with Rin, so it was simple to see why Makoto had thought  _he_  was the obligation – but he is not sure why Makoto would go to Nagisa for help. Haruka has known both he and Rei for a long time and neither of them had so much as mentioned Makoto before, yet the way that they all spoke about each other now seemed to suggest years of friendship. It didn’t make sense.

“Well…because you know him. He knows you. He actually talks about you all the time but I never thought that I would get the chance to meet you.” Makoto rubs along his eyebrow. “So when I hadn’t seen you for a few days, I thought that he would be my best bet. To find out if you were okay, I mean.”

Haruka nods. That makes sense. And truthfully, he probably would have done the same thing if he had been the one in Makoto’s position. Which brings to mind a whole different question, and he suddenly finds himself asking, “How long have you known Nagisa and Rei?”

“Eh?” Makoto scratches his head, face screwed up in thought, and he looks a lot cuter than he has any right to. “I moved to Johto a couple of years ago and they both walked into the Day Care on my very first day of work, so I’d say pretty much the whole time I’ve been in town.”

Haruka hums.

“What about you?”

He raises an eyebrow.

Makoto laughs. “How long have you known Nagisa and Rei?”

“Oh,” Haruka shrugs. “Something like five years.”

“Five years?!” Makoto’s eyes widen. “That’s a long time.”

Haruka shrugs again. Makoto does have a point; five years is the longest that he has ever held a friendship with someone. But then again, Nagisa and Rei had been his first friends ever, so maybe he’d gotten so used to them that he didn’t even notice that time was passing.

“I’ve never kept a friend for that long,” Makoto says. He pushes his lips to the side in thought, one finger coming up to scratch at his chin. “Well, except for Kisumi. We were friends in middle school and even though we went to different high schools, we still tried to make time for each other. Oh, but then I moved here right after graduation and I haven’t seen him since. Although we do still keep in touch! Last I heard from him, he was about to go and challenge the Elite – ”

But he is cut off by a flurry of noise: first, an aborted snuffle that turns quickly into a high keen and second, the heavy padding of feet as they come running. The door is pushed open with a sudden  _bang_  and both Makoto and Haruka turn at the sound; Brownie dashes into the room and makes a beeline for Makoto, tail waving wildly as she tries to get his attention. She yips and howls, her panic evident in the way that she leaps from side to side, and Makoto has to rest his hands on her shoulders and bend into a crouch before she calms down.

“Brownie,” he says, and Haruka’s mouth falls open. Makoto sounds completely different than usual – where his voice was once honeyed and smooth, it is now hard and rough around the edges. There is a hint of steel in his tone, one strong enough to snap Brownie out of her panic and make her focus, amber eyes sharpening as she lets loose a string of whines and whimpers. Haruka has seen trainers talk to their Pokémon like this before, seen them bark out orders in the same gruff tone, and it has always made him angry, caused red hot coals to fester in the pit of his stomach. But this is different. There is no superiority here; Makoto is not demanding obedience. Instead, he has somehow managed to calm his Pokémon down and is now giving her his full attention, green eyes almost glowing with how intently he’s focused on her.

Haruka feels his heart skip a beat.

“But is she okay?” Makoto asks. He plants his hands against his knees and pushes himself upright. Brownie nods, her curl bobbing, and he lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay. I’ll be right there. Haru,” he calls suddenly, and Haruka starts. “Excuse me, please. Munna rolled right off of the bed while she was sleeping and hit the nightstand on her way down. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Of course.” Haruka nods, and Makoto leaves the room in two quick strides.

Brownie is still trembling as she sinks to the ground, her tail moving restlessly as she tries to get herself in check. Haruka sits beside her and runs his hand over her back until she is boneless. Only then does he speak.

“She’ll be okay,” he says softly. Brownie peeks up at him, inviting him to continue. “Makoto knows what he’s doing and you did a good job coming and getting him.” Then, with a smirk, “Umi would have been proud.”

Brownie sniffs and looks away; Haruka rolls his eyes, though he does shake his head fondly.

They sit in a comfortable silence as they wait for Makoto. Brownie bats at her curl, face tilted downward so that it hangs temptingly over her forehead, and Haruka absentmindedly plays with his shoelaces. He lets them slip through his fingers again and again as his mind wanders, touches on how much he has come to like Makoto in the short time that they’ve known each other, lingers on the way that his cheeks heat up whenever he is faced with Makoto’s sunshine smile. It’s a little bit stupid, he thinks, how much he likes him. And a lot stupid, he thinks again, the way that Makoto makes him feel.

Haruka sighs and leans back against the counter, chin pointed towards the ceiling. He’s tired of thinking about this; tired of feeling this way. He would  _never_  give it up for the world – as much as he hates to admit it, he has long become addicted to the pressure, the pain, the swarm of butterflies in his stomach and the balloons in his chest. But that does not mean that it doesn’t hurt. Raw and tender around the edges, a scab that has been picked at until even the scar tissue is rendered useless. A pain so sharp that sometimes, he thinks he can reach out and grab onto it. Pluck it from his chest and hold it safely in his arms, try to soothe the ache so that maybe he can think about something else. But it never works; he grasps the front of his shirt in his fist, fingers scrambling to hold onto something that is  _not tangible_ , and it breaks his heart every time. How can he feel something so much, so  _strongly_ , and not be able to touch it? How can it weigh so heavily on his mind and yet nothing at all in the palm of his hand? 

It doesn’t make any sense. And more than anything else, that frustrates him.

But something else tickles in the back of his mind too, something that had been pushed aside in all of the excitement. Now, with a quiet moment of peace, it comes back to him: Kisumi. Makoto had mentioned him a little while ago and for some reason, the name stuck out. Why does it sound so familiar? The tickling sensation travels down his spine, curls up and around and back to his mouth and Haruka bites his lip, trying to fit everything into place. And it should be simple enough – there is a Kisumi-shaped slot ready for him to just slide the information into, that is how easy this seems. It’s right there on the tip of his tongue and he can feel it trying to come out but then it gets stuck somewhere, leaving his throat dry and his mind in shambles; he just can’t seem to put it together. He can’t remember where he’s heard that name before and it is so irritating, being this close to figuring something out and then having to pull back in the last second. So he puts the whole thing out of his mind, deciding to bother with it another day. After all, if it were really important then he wouldn’t have forgotten in the first place. 

“Haru?”

He hears Makoto before he sees him, lifts himself to his knees and peers over the edge of the counter. “Makoto.”

“Ah, Haru. There you are! Is Brownie down there too?” 

He steps into the room, voice pitched low so as to not disturb the fussy bundle in his arms. It is quivering, crying softly into Makoto’s shoulder, and Haruka can just make out the purple flower stamped across its side. He steps forward and holds his hands out; Makoto pulls Munna away from his chest– and she looks so small, can almost fit entirely in the palm of his hand – and lays her gently in the bend of Haruka’s elbow.

“Yeah, she is.” But the answer comes too late, useless as Brownie steps out from behind the counter and rubs her head against Makoto’s knee. Not that Haruka notices – he is too enthralled with the sniffling Pokémon in his arms, eyes shining brilliantly as he rocks her back and forth to quiet her sobs. “She’s so small.”

“Yeah,” Makoto says softly. He curls his fingers around Brownie’s tail, lets it slip through as she moves around him. “She only just hatched a couple days ago. A trainer left her Musharna here for a few weeks, but she didn’t really want the egg. And we didn’t know who the father was, so we just kept it and took care of it and now we have Munna.” He trails one finger along her snout and the movement is so tender that Haruka’s breath catches in his throat. “But thankfully she’s okay. I was really worried that she had hurt herself when she rolled off the bed.”

The sobs gradually slow as Haruka bounces Munna against his chest, fingers smoothing down her back in an effort to soothe. She pulls away slightly and blinks big, red, watery eyes at him; he blinks back and a gurgle of laughter bubbles out of her, joyful in the way that can only come from a baby. There is a bump at the edge of her snout, right where Haruka assumes she caught the nightstand, and he leans forward to press his lips against it softly, just as his grandmother used to do.

Munna jerks away, laughing happily. Pushes her face into Haruka’s neck so closely that he can feel the dried tears sticking to his skin, every puff of laughter warm across his throat. And he holds her just a little tighter, resting his hand against the curve of her bottom. 

He wants to protect her. He never wants her to cry again, never wants to see anything other than a smile painted across her face. He has known Munna for all of five seconds and already feels so strongly about her. But, he supposes, eyeing Makoto, that seems to be going around lately.

Makoto stares, red riding high on his cheekbones. And Gods, the look that he gives Haruka – like he is the most incredible thing that Makoto has ever seen, like he is the most incredible thing that Makoto  _will ever_  see – makes his skin prickle. It makes him feel hot, makes him want to take Makoto’s face in his hands and hold him there, make him look at him like that forever. “Wow, Haru. I couldn’t get her to stop crying at all.” His voice is small, breathless in all the right ways. “You’re amazing.”

And Haruka turns away, giggling baby still in his arms, and has to hide a smile because it’s funny – he was just thinking the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extras:
> 
> [Here](http://www.proflowers.com/blog/history-and-meaning-of-sunflowers) is some information on the meaning of sunflowers. It’s not really touched on in the fic but I definitely did keep this in mind when I was coming up with Haruka’s thought process and intentions.
> 
> In terms of Makoto – in the show, he’s been known to be really free with his compliments, even if he does get flustered easily. I tried to show that side of him in this and hopefully it came across! I feel a little bit like he is the type to be truthful and compliment people easily, but then if he has feelings for someone, it catches up with him and he gets a little bit embarrassed.
> 
> Anyways, that is it for the first part! I hope that you guys enjoyed it at least a little bit and I will try to get the second part up as soon as I can. Thank you for reading!


	2. and I'm head over heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both of our boys land safely on their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in hindsight, maybe I should never have posted the beginning of a fic in November. I had every intention of updating a lot earlier than now, please believe me when I say that. And I honestly thought that I would be able to handle it because when I posted the first part of this fic, I’d only needed to write the last section. Literally everything else was done and dusted, and I thought that I could write the last couple thousand words in a few weeks and then post the second chapter and everything would be hunky dory. 
> 
> But I probably overestimated myself (or maybe underestimated my time) because I got hit with a really bad case of writer’s block. And so many things happen in my family between December and February – birthdays and anniversaries (some good, some bad) and holidays – that everything just sort of ran away from me. I could barely find the time to write and then when I did manage to find some, nothing was coming out properly. And then I kept on getting angry and frustrated because I felt like I was wasting my time, and I felt like I was wasting your time, and I just wanted everything to work out and nothing was going according to plan.
> 
> Thankfully, though, I did manage to clear my mind and find my stride and I now present the second part of this (mostly) self-indulgent Pokémon AU!
> 
> Just as a refresher, [here](https://68.media.tumblr.com/9d39bd19eb3f2648001c76a9b13f8695/tumblr_og4f41ggke1unztgio1_540.png) is the tweet that started it all.
> 
> Oh, and one more thing: please remember that I had designed this to be a one-shot. I only mention it because I think that as a standalone chapter, this one has the action happening pretty fast and close to the beginning. I don’t necessarily think that the pacing is off (at least, I hope not!) so much as I know that much of the build-up happened in the first chapter. So maybe if you guys are so inclined and have the time, reread the first bit before you dive into this one? Or not, of course, do whatever you’d like, but the whole story feels a little bit more well-rounded that way, at least in my opinion. It was, after all, designed to be read all in one go. Except that the word count got away from me – sorry!
> 
> But okay! Enough of the excuses and explanations. I have tons more to say, but I will save all of that for the notes at the end. Please remember that this is completely unbeta’d (so if you find any mistakes at all, do not hesitate to let me know) and hopefully you'll enjoy the conclusion!

They fall into a routine fairly quickly. 

Haruka comes by the Day Care every other day and tries to help Makoto as much as he can, despite his vehement protests of  _Haru, no, you’re a guest, I can’t just take advantage of you like that! What would Tamura-san say if she ever found out – Haru, really!_  But the truth is that Haruka doesn’t mind. He likes helping Makoto out, likes seeing the tension drain from his shoulders when he realizes that he doesn’t have to handle everything alone anymore. He likes being able to see Makoto all of the time, likes the way his face lights up in a smile whenever Haruka walks through the door, cheeks dimpling and eyes shining. Even the erratic thud of his heart – he has long since not only grown used to it, but has also come to enjoy it. It’s a touchstone of sorts; something for him to focus on, to use as an anchor against the general bustle of his life. 

But what he likes most are the days when he and Makoto take their Pokémon just outside of the Day Care, out by the lake on the other side of the road. When they can relax and take a few hours to themselves, able to just spend some time together and talk. As much as Haruka loves to help Makoto with his work, this is by far his favourite part of their routine.

“ – and she always puts apples in it too,” Makoto is saying. He sounds fond, voice pitched low in the way that means he is talking about his family. “It was so delicious that it ended up being my favourite.” He chuckles, and Haruka can feel the ensuing rumble deep in his chest. It is both warm and welcoming, like a heated towel nestled in the space between his lungs. “What about you, Haru?”

Haruka hums, eyeing the pink flowers in his hands. He’s been trying to weave them together into some sort of wreath; a flower crown, he remembers it being called. Nagisa had told him all about them recently, but Haruka had barely paid attention. Until he’d started thinking about making one for Makoto. About how incredible he would look with a wreath of flowers encircling his head, and Haruka had suddenly found himself with a new project. 

It’s a little bit silly, Haruka knows, and sometimes he wonders if he should just stop and forget about the whole thing. But then he remembers the look on Makoto’s face when he had seen the sunflowers. He remembers the pure joy and wonder reflected in those bright eyes, remembers how it had looked like Makoto was in awe that something could ever be that  _beautiful_ , and it steels his resolve. Because he wants to see that face again. And it might be greedy but Haruka cannot bring himself to care; he  _needs_  to see that face again. He doesn’t know why, but he knows that he does. Knows that somehow, maybe, it will be able to ease the burn in his chest, unravel the knot that has been pulling tighter and tighter in his gut with every day that passes.

“Ah, right. Mackerel. How could I forget?” Makoto sounds happy, his speech punctuated by dots of laughter, and it warms Haruka’s heart so much that the heat overflows, spills over and spreads through his veins until his ears are flushed, bright red and scalding. He dips his head lower, subtly hiding behind the swoop of his bangs. He hates that he can so easily lose his cool, hates that Makoto seems to have some power over him that he cannot fully understand.

But thankfully, Makoto does not seem to understand it either.

So Haruka just hums again, discards a naked stem and reaches for another, fuller, flower. He considers it quietly, turning it this way and that, before resting it against his thigh and grabbing one more. It’s just as good as the first and he allows himself a small smile, shoulders shaking with just the tiniest hint of mirth. His cheeks burn even hotter and for a moment, Haruka has the strangest thought that they must be glowing. But he shakes his head and pushes the idea away, trying instead to find an opening in the mostly-finished flower crown resting in his lap.

“Ne, Haru?”

He presses back against Makoto in lieu of an answer this time, fingers moving quickly as he knots these two new flowers together. The stems wobble in his grasp, fraying at the edges, but Haruka easily rips away the threads and casts them aside. His Octillery regards them curiously before pressing his face into the growing pile, pulling away with a look of disgust as the threads fit themselves over his beak. He lets out a shrill cry and then shuffles to the edge of the lake, toppling into the water with a  _splash_  as he tries to clean them off. Haruka watches this all unfold with quirked eyebrows, but continues to work once Octillery resurfaces, leaning his back even more against Makoto’s in order to draw his attention. 

“Right, sorry Haru. I just wanted to ask you – ack! Munna, please stop doing that!”

Haruka smooths his finger against one flat, pink petal. “What is she doing?” 

“She’s just climbing all over me,” Makoto sighs. “But she keeps on slipping and then almost falling and then she grabs onto my arm and does the whole thing all over again. She’s going to end up hurting herself.”

“Mm.” Haruka nods. He picks up another flower and begins to slide it through the opening, careful to keep from crushing the blossom. Camellias are fragile, he has learnt. Easy to wrinkle and even easier to destroy, Haruka knows that they must be handled with the utmost amount of care to keep from getting ruined. He wants this to be special; after all, that was the reason why he had chosen camellias to begin with. Their significance comes from a different place than the sunflowers. It comes from the far corners of his mind, those little spaces where he is just barely comfortable enough to try and put this strange feeling into words. Longing, maybe; this desire that he has to spend as much time with Makoto as he possibly can. It also comes from the forefront of his mind, where he knows that there is no other person on this entire planet who is able to embody perfection as well as Tachibana Makoto does. It comes from the complete and utter faith that he has in Makoto: that he can do whatever he puts his mind to, that he is the greatest person that Haruka has ever known. It is a lot of responsibility to thrust upon such delicate flowers, he thinks, but he somehow knows that they are able to handle it.

A slight pressure spreads across his shoulder just then and he wrinkles his nose, tries to focus on winding the flowers together despite his attention being divided. And then suddenly – a lapful of Munna. She lies amidst the flowers and laughs, her legs kicking out playfully. 

“I told you,” Makoto laughs. He twists his body so that he can see them and Haruka overbalances, would have fallen straight to the ground if not for Makoto catching him at the last second. He smiles sheepishly as he brushes some dirt from Haruka’s shoulder, head tilted in apology. “Sorry Haru,” he says again. “I forgot that you were leaning on me.”

“You are the only person who would forget something like that,” Haruka replies, plucks Munna from the flowers and drops her into Makoto’s waiting arms.

She squeals happily and drapes herself across his elbow, tapping her feet in an unheard rhythm. She had quickly become attached to Haruka since the day they’d met – every time that he went to visit Makoto at the Day Care, Munna would be waiting for him. Sometimes she would be toddling across the floor, movements stiff and jerky due to her excitement. Other times, she would be content to lie in the safety of Makoto’s arms, dozing away as she waited for Haruka to arrive. And he was always greeted warmly, as Munna would gleefully shriek and jump into his chest, unshakeable in her faith that he would catch her. 

“What did you want to ask?”

“Hmm? Oh!” Makoto scratches his head. “I just wanted to ask, Haru…what are you doing?”

Munna blows raspberries and falls to the ground, landing in a tuft of grass. There is a moment of tense silence as she sits flat on her bottom – both Makoto and Haruka eye her warily, ready to spring into action if she begins to wail – but soon enough, she teeters to her feet and runs off towards the other Pokémon, calling for them to play with her. Umi and Brownie are lost in their own world and Octillery is still trying to scrub himself clean, but Makoto’s Sawsbuck lowers his head and allows her to climb onto his leafy antlers, grimacing only slightly when she tugs just a touch too hard. 

“She’s so cute,” Makoto sighs. He looks after her fondly and Haruka can almost see the hearts in his eyes. 

“She is,” he agrees, and then rests the finished flower crown on Makoto’s head. “Here.”

“Haru!” He blushes so harshly that his freckles disappear, hands scrambling to try and hold onto the crown without squashing any of the flowers. 

Haruka watches as he gingerly lifts it off of his head, handling it as if it were made of gold instead of greenery, and his heart lurches somewhere deep in his chest, tries to hide away from everything that it is feeling but it’s no use because it  _hurts_. Seeing Makoto examining the flower crown, the way that his eyes bleed golden in the sunlight, it hurts  _so much_  to be with him and not be able to tell him how he feels. Because he can’t do it – he’s scared. No matter how many times Nagisa tells him to go for it, he is still scared. Between Munna and Umi and Brownie, they have a good thing going right now and more than anything else, Haruka is terrified of messing it up. And over something as simple as a crush? No, it just was not worth it. So this will do. It will  _have_  to do. He’d much rather have Makoto as a friend than lose him completely.

“How did you make this?” 

Makoto’s voice brings him back and he mashes his lips together, tries to get his racing thoughts under control. “It’s easy,” he says, and winces when his voice comes out higher than usual. Makoto looks at him strangely but says nothing, and Haruka clears his throat. “I can show you sometime. If you wanted.”

A smile blooms across Makoto’s face. “I’d really love that, Haru. But,” he adds, holds up his hands and laughs in a self-deprecating way, “I’m not really all that good at things like this.” 

And Haruka wants to disagree. Wants to tell Makoto that even though his hands are large and rough and maybe a little clumsy, he can still do it. Because they’re gentle. They’re careful; they’re so strong but Makoto treats everything that he touches as if it were made of glass. Haruka would know, after all – they’re the very same hands that have been handling his heart for the past few weeks. It’s something that neither Rin nor Sousuke are very happy about, but Haruka is loath to let this go. He feels safe with Makoto, safe in a way that he has not felt in a long time. So he knows, perhaps more than anyone, that Makoto has nothing to worry about. He knows that despite their size and in spite of their strength, those hands would have no problem at all weaving together something as delicate as a flower crown.

But he does not say this. Instead, he lies back on the grass and folds his arms across his stomach. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I can teach you,” he says firmly, and relishes the sound of Makoto’s answering laughter.

“I look forward to it, then,” he says, flops onto his back and carefully balances the flower crown on his stomach. “But I do have another question.”

Haruka hums.

“It’s probably silly but I’ve wondered for a while now,” he pauses, licks his lips and squints his eyes as if caught up in thought and Haruka rolls onto his side, digs his toes into Makoto’s thigh. He jumps, but relaxes into the touch, grabbing onto Haruka’s foot with one hand and squeezing it so gently that it barely tickles at all. “How did Umi get his name?”

Haruka stiffens. “How did Brownie get hers?”

And he doesn’t know why he’s stalling like this. Doesn’t know why he can’t just give a straight answer except that talking about his grandmother still hurts, even after all this time, and he wants to put it off for as long as possible. So he turns the spotlight onto Makoto, uses this as an opportunity to buy some time while finding out more about him in the process. It’s sneaky and selfish and thinking about it makes his palms start to sweat, but he just curls them into fists and tries to ignore the slickness between his fingers.

Luckily, Makoto doesn’t notice; he tilts his head back, gaze serene as it skates across the sky. “It’s a bit of a ridiculous story, actually,” he confesses, drawing his fingers through his hair. “My brother and sister – Ren and Ran, they’re about ten years younger than me – were really excited when I first caught Brownie. Of course, she was still an Eevee then. And that also just so happened to be around the same time that our mother was really taken by these Western cooking shows. She’d spend hours and hours on dinner, trying to make whatever dish she’d seen on TV that day, and had just learnt how to make brownies. The twins were so excited, they loved them so much that they’d try to eat the brownies instead of their dinner.” He shakes his head fondly, eyes soft as if able to see the memory playing back through the clouds. “I don’t know if you know, Haru, but brownies are brown. And an Eevee is brown. And my siblings were a little hyper from all the sugar but the name just…stuck. She’s been Brownie ever since, even though she’s not really brown anymore.”

“That’s cute,” Haruka says, and means it. Makoto’s siblings sound cute, lively in a way that he is not familiar with, but there is a sudden tug in his chest that makes him realize that he wants to be. He wants to meet them; wants to uncover bits and pieces about Makoto’s life until he is able to see exactly where he fits best. “Brownie doesn’t seem to mind either way.”

“Yeah. She indulges them, I think,” Makoto turns his head and sighs, smiling softly at Haruka. “So what about Umi, then?”

Haruka falls silent, toes flexing against their perch. He doesn’t know where to start, doesn’t know how to explain how important this is to him without tripping over his words. But he needs to say something; he wants to find out more about Makoto, yes, but he wants to share more of himself too. He wants Makoto to know about him, wants him to take the piece of his heart that Haruka has carved out for him and make a home of it. But how can he expect Makoto to do  _that_  if he’s too scared to tell him about  _this?_ So Haruka ignores the heavy weight of Makoto’s gaze, closes his eyes for a beat to steady himself, and then finally lets out a deep breath. 

“My parents,” he begins, words coming slowly as he lines them up, tries to get them to fit into the story he’s been told so many times before, “were married young. And then just two weeks later, I was born. Baa-chan said that they were happy. That they loved each other, but. They were young. And since I came along so soon, they never really had any time to themselves.” He shifts in the grass, presses one fist against his burning cheek. “I was two when my father won a contest at work. The prize was an Eevee and two tickets aboard the S.S. Anne. And my mother always wanted to go and see the lighthouse in Olivine, so everything worked out perfectly. They left me and Eevee with my grandmother in Vermillion City and promised that they would be back soon. But a storm hit and the boat never made it back. Baa-chan said that it never even made it to Olivine to begin with.”

“Haru.”

Warmth closes around his wrist and it settles deep in Haruka’s bones, a soothing balm that helps to ease the burn in his throat. Makoto is looking at him but it feels wrong, twisted somehow in a way that Haruka cannot put his finger on. The pity, he thinks. The sadness, the way that those vibrant eyes have dulled down, peridot to jade instead of shining as brightly as the sun. He hates it, wants to stop talking if it would make that sadness disappear, but the words just keep coming. Tired of being locked away for so long, spilling from his lips too quickly to control.

“I was fourteen when Eevee decided that he wanted to be a Vaporeon,” Haruka goes on, voice soft and thin, wavering with each breath. “I loved to swim, even then, and I remember being so happy because then we would be able to swim together. I wanted to give him a new name. Something to mark the occasion. At first, I wanted to call him Ningyo, but Baa-chan just laughed, gentle. Fond. Said that a Vaporeon doesn’t look anything like a human. And then she suggested Umi. So that I would be able to have a piece of the ocean with me wherever I went.

“So Umi became Umi. And then one year later, my grandmother died. It’s been just me and Umi ever since. He’s the only family that I have. The only connection that I have left to my parents. My grandmother. He’s important to me.” And Haruka hates the way that his voice shakes, hates the fact that he can feel each tremor so deeply that his blood is tingling, buzzing in response.

Makoto looks as if he wants to say something but he never gets the chance – Umi bounds over and drops against Haruka’s back, nuzzles his cheek into the hollow of his throat. Mournful purple eyes look at him questioningly, worry evident through the whine pressed against his neck but Haruka just shakes his head, unwilling to get into the whole thing again. Unable to, if he’s going to be honest with himself.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly, ghosting his fingers against Umi’s cheek. Then again, a little more firmly as he looks up at Makoto, “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Makoto says simply. His grip carries down from Haruka’s wrist until he is cradling his hand, squeezes it gently before drawing away altogether. Umi looks between them once, twice, and then, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, dashes back to Brownie’s side. He tackles her in a sprawling mess of limbs, licks her cheeks and she trills happily, rolling them around on the grass until she has the upper hand. Umi lets her do as she pleases, tail moving from side to side as she sits on top of his chest, rising high enough for his flukes to brush against her ears, and Makoto lets out a contented sigh at the sight. “Ne, Haru?”

He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hands, leaves them there and revels in the comforting pressure. “Hmm.”

The gentle press of fingers against his own has his hands falling away; one lands against his stomach, the other in the forgotten pile of camellias and Haruka lets the smooth petals settle into his palm. They’re cool to the touch, refreshing in a way that has his heart stuttering back to life, and he can’t stop the quiet sigh from passing through his lips. 

“I’m really glad that I met you.” Makoto’s voice is barely more than a whisper, soft enough to be whisked away by the summer breeze. But Haruka hears him. Hears the words that he has been waiting for his whole life, the words that he never even knew he needed until now, and it is just enough to fill his eyes, make him clench them shut lest the tears fall.

“Me too,” he manages to get out, voice cracking through gritted teeth. “I’m happy too.”

 

\--

 

Over the course of their friendship, Haruka has come to learn a lot about Makoto. 

He knows – if that hideous watch and those matching shoes are anything to go by – that his favourite colour is orange. He knows that Makoto enjoys the little things in life; likes to read and drink tea, loves to take a nap when it rains and would rather spend time playing with the Pokémon under his care than simply keeping watch over them. He knows that Makoto misses his family, misses them so much that sometimes the only thing that helps is when he spends hours and hours on the phone with them, catching up on all that he’s missed and in turn, filling them in on everything new in his life. Yet despite this, Haruka also knows that Makoto does not regret moving. He may miss Floraroma Town but he is happy here in Goldenrod, both with his friends and with his job.

“I’ve always wanted to work with Pokémon,” he’d explained once, carefully patching up a teary eyed Growlithe. Haruka had been standing next to him, blood soaked towel caught between his fingers as he watched Makoto gingerly pry a thorn from her paw. “I know that a lot of people see them as pets, and I know that some people even see them as tools to get whatever they want, but I’ve never been like that. Nobody in my family ever has. They’re alive, they’re breathing, they have feelings! And I always thought that, well…if my parents were going to drop me off in a strange place for days at a time, I’d feel a lot better if there was a friendly face around. A lot less scared.” He’d bitten his lip then, falling quiet as the Growlithe whimpered. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. We’re almost done, see?” Makoto pulled out a roll of gauze and padded the wound, continuing where he’d left off with, “So that’s why I came to help Tamura-san with the Day Care after her husband died.  _That’s_  what I wanted to be for these Pokémon, Haru. I wanted to be that friendly face." 

And there was nothing that Haruka could have said about that. Well, not unless he wanted to embarrass himself. So he’d just nodded, pushed back Growlithe’s sweat-soaked fur with gentle fingers and tried to ignore the violent swoop low in his belly.

But perhaps the most important thing that Haruka has learnt about Makoto is how much he loves chocolate. All sweets, really – he would never turn away a slice of cake if somebody offered it to him – but chocolate is his favourite.

“Haru!”

“Makoto,” comes the answer. Haruka twists against the tree, trying to use the trunk as a makeshift backscratcher. His sketchbook lies open on his knees, pencil tucked safely into the spiral binding. It had been a peaceful morning so far, spent relaxing in the shade and doodling whatever Pokémon were curious enough to come close, but he has a feeling that all of that is about to change; Makoto buzzes with energy as he comes closer, gait unsteady in his excitement. “What is it?” 

“You have to try this,” he says and plops down next to Haruka, folds his long legs underneath him in a way that looks vaguely uncomfortable. There is a brightly coloured box in his hand, although the wrapping is torn – Haruka can see the jagged edges around the corners, can tell where paper has been ripped away in haste. “I really wanted to open it with you but it smelt so good that I couldn’t help myself.” A sheepish smile crosses his face, complimented by the faint traces of pink visible just under his smattering of freckles. “Sorry, Haru.”

“It’s fine,” Haruka says. He pokes and prods at Makoto’s legs until they overlap with his own, and does not miss the breath of relief that follows. “Don’t do that to yourself.” He shoots Makoto a pointed glare and then repeats, “What is it?”

“Chocolate!” Makoto chirps, and it sounds so absurd coming from someone of his size that Haruka ducks his head, hides his smile behind a curled fist. Not that Makoto realizes; his hand hovers over the open tray, eyebrows furrowed as he studies the box in his lap. “They taste really good, Haru. Here – ”

And before Haruka can blink, Makoto has picked up one of the pieces and holds it in front of his mouth. His forehead creases in surprise for a split second before his expression smooths over, rounding into a pout. He doesn’t like sweet things to begin with, and though Makoto knows this, he does not budge. Instead, he just smiles serenely and shakes the little chocolate; blue eyes peer down at it curiously, trace over the thin ribbon of green icing wrapped around the shell. They dart back up to find Makoto staring at him intently, gaze roving over his face as if looking for something important. 

And somehow, he feels caught out.

“Makoto,” he grumbles, shrinks in on himself when Makoto snaps to attention.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

Haruka looks to the chocolate and then back up at Makoto, twisting his fingers in the grass.

“Oh, are you worried about the flavour?” 

“No,” Haruka says. He pushes his lip out more, turning away just enough that the chocolate brushes against his cheek.

Makoto moves to suit. “It’s just plain chocolate. I, uh…might have sampled one when I first opened the box. But it’s really good!” He tilts his head, blinking at Haruka with those droopy puppy dog eyes that they both know he can never refuse; Haruka tightens his jaw but ultimately gives in, allowing his mouth to fall open the tiniest bit.

But that is all Makoto needs. He grins, big and bright and wonderful, and gently rests the chocolate against the curve of Haruka’s lower lip; he looks away, cheeks aflame, but bites into it all the same. Sweetness floods his mouth, makes his nose scrunch back in protest, and Haruka chews and swallows, runs his tongue along the ridge of his teeth to try and chase the taste away. His lips are tingling – though from the gesture or the sugar, he cannot tell – and it is nearly enough to distract from the way his ears are burning. 

Nearly, but not quite.

Because he can feel it. From the tips of his fingers down to the soles of his feet, his skin is prickling. Bubbling, buzzing, tingling – too many things all at once, a mess of sensation that has him in a tailspin. He wants to get away, to get up and run and push his muscles to their breaking point so that he can focus on that instead; he wants the roaring in his ears to be something else, anything else, other than the beat of his own heart.

“What do you think?”

Makoto’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, manages to calm his racing heart in the strangest way – how is it possible that one person can have the power to first throw him into a panic and then snap him out of it all in the space of a few minutes?  

It makes no sense, and Haruka scowls a little more intensely than he means to as he says, “Too sweet.”

“Eh?” Makoto pulls back. “Haru, you really think so? Ah,” and there is a sudden note in his voice that Haruka cannot place, a softness in those green eyes that makes them look as though they are made up of tiny little stars, flashing brightly in the midday sun. “I forgot…you don’t like sweet things, do you?” His fingers trail across the edge of his jaw self-consciously. “Sorry, Haru.”

“It’s fine,” Haruka says again, bonks his head against the bark and tries to figure out why he suddenly feels disappointed. He’d wanted to get away, hadn’t he? But wanting to get away is one thing; seeing Makoto withdraw from him is another thing entirely. Haruka quickly decides that he does not like it. “Where did they come from?” 

“Where did what come from?” Makoto pops the rest of the chocolate into his mouth, chewing slowly as he looks off into the distance. The tips of his ears are bright red; Haruka can almost feel the heat coming off of them in waves and he shakes his head, half in fondness, half in exasperation.

“Makoto,” He pokes him in the shoulder. “The chocolates.”

“The choc – ah! Kisumi sent them for me.”

And once again, Haruka feels that niggling at the base of his skull. “Kisumi…?” 

He does not realize that he has spoken out loud until Makoto says, “My friend from middle school that I told you about, remember?” He waits until Haruka nods before adding, “He said that there was a really fancy chocolate store next to the hotel that he’s staying at right now, so he made up a box and sent it for me.” 

Haruka narrows his eyes. “I see.”

Makoto carries on, “And he was right, they are really delicious!” His voice goes quiet, contrite. “Well, they’re delicious unless you don’t like sweet things. Sorry again, Haru.”

“Stop apologizing,” Haruka glares, words laced with steel. He suddenly feels irritable; his stomach sinks lower than he thought possible and the chasm reappears in his chest, spreading his ribs further and further apart until he is sure that they will crack under the pressure. It makes it difficult for him to draw a breath, even more so to hold it in for a few beats before releasing, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek to distract from the pain.

“Haru?”

His hum is curt.

“Are you okay?”

Makoto sounds worried; something big rises out of the ever-growing chasm, takes hold of Haruka’s lungs and squeezes. Grinds them down into a dust so heavy that his throat closes, and he has to physically turn away in order to try and catch his breath.

“Fine,” he chokes out. He reaches into the box of chocolates and grabs another one, tossing it into his mouth just so that he has something to do. He is hit with a burst of flavour and his tongue darts out instinctively, face twisting in displeasure.

“Haru, what are you doing?” Makoto tries to fight back a laugh and the sound is far, far sweeter than any piece of chocolate could ever hope to be. “I thought that you didn’t like it.” A pause, then, “Are you  _sure_  that you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Haruka insists, wonders how many times he has said that word throughout their conversation. “Just tired.”

“Then you should rest,” Makoto says. He closes the box of chocolates and sets it down beside him, rests one hand atop the lid as though making sure it stays put. “Umi and Brownie are probably still in the underbrush, and Munna is taking a nap inside. There’s no reason why you can’t do the same.”

“How old do you think I am?” Haruka grouses, but he moves his sketchbook aside as well, tries to get comfortable against the scratchy surface digging into his back. 

“No need to worry,” Makoto teases. He reaches out, catches Haruka’s chin in his hand and tilts it just so. Haruka blinks; Makoto’s thumb dips across the corner of his mouth and wipes away a smudge of chocolate, which he then licks clean. He presses his lips together in a small smile and Haruka can only stare as he cheekily adds, “You still look good for your age.”

“Very funny,” Haruka deadpans, flush crawling up his neck until it settles prettily upon his cheeks. He tries to turn away but Makoto holds firm, thumb still cradling the point of his chin.

“Thanks,” Makoto whispers.

And then time seems to stop. 

And the only thing that Haruka can see is Makoto and he  _wants_ , he wants  _so badly._  He wants those green eyes and that bright smile, that weird sense of humour and the soft heart to match. He wants late nights spent cuddling together on the couch, hours standing before a stove as he cooks enough food for two. A big bed, mountains of pillows, enough to swallow them whole as they lie down to go to sleep. Mundane tasks that he would no longer have to do alone – grocery shopping, laundry, going out for breakfast with his friends. Everything would be better with him by his side. And he wants that. He wants all of it; he wants everything.

He wants Makoto. 

Suddenly, all of his fears seem so stupid. He knows Makoto, probably knows him better than anybody else that he has ever known. And he cannot understand why he ever thought that Makoto would push him away if he knew the truth. He’s not like that; he’s kind and thoughtful and generous and would rather hurt himself than  _dream_  of hurting Haruka. 

And Haruka knows this. He knows this down to his bones; he knows this as surely as he knows that he loves to swim. As surely as he knows that he loves Umi.

He knows that Makoto would never hurt him as surely as he knows that he loves Makoto. 

Because he does. He loves him. This thing with Makoto, it had never been just a crush. Haruka might not have realized it then, but he’d fallen in love with Makoto the moment that he’d laid eyes on him and has just kept on falling ever since.

“Haruka,” Makoto says, and though his voice is soft, there is a glint of something new in his eyes. Determination, maybe. “There’s something that I wanted to tell you.”

Haruka’s eyes widen in the same instant that his heart leaps into his throat, rendering him speechless. All that he can do is nod, a slight bob of his head that probably looks as disjointed as he feels, but Makoto smiles the smile that makes his heart do somersaults in his chest and he suddenly knows that everything will be okay. No matter what Makoto wants to tell him, everything will be okay. Maybe even better than okay.

But he never gets the chance to find out. 

His phone comes to life right as Makoto opens his mouth to speak; he promptly snaps it shut and jerks back, biting his lips nervously and Haruka wants nothing more than to empty his pockets and throw the phone as far as he can. But that would require an explanation and frankly, he doesn’t have one. So he settles for the next best option – he takes his phone out and jabs the IGNORE button so harshly that the tip of his thumb turns white. 

“Haru,” Makoto starts, and Haruka’s heart sinks. But he refuses to look up; does not want to see the shutters close behind those verdant green eyes, cannot stand the thought of doubt clouding them over. Because he knows Makoto and he knows that is what’s happening right now. Can tell by the timid waver of his voice, made only more obvious by the distance that Makoto has since put between them. “You should take the call. It might be important.”

“No,” he says tightly. He catches the name stamped across the Caller ID and his frown deepens. Rin can wait.  _Everything_  can wait. The only thing that  _cannot_  wait is whatever it is that Makoto wanted to tell him. But even then, he knows that this is a long shot. He can see the moment fading away; wants to reach out and grab it, hold onto it, but no matter what Haruka does, it keeps on slipping through his fingers. “I’ll call them back later.”

Makoto mashes his lips together. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Haruka nods firmly. 

He hesitates, looks like he wants to say something more. But Haruka turns his face away, eyebrows pinched, and Makoto finally gives in. Reclines his head against the tree and lets out a quiet sigh, face upturned to the sky.  

And just like that, the moment is gone. Replaced by an air of serenity that settles over them, so calm and peaceful that their breathing evens out, chests rising and falling in tandem. Haruka knows that there is nothing he can say now that will put that strange fire back into Makoto’s eyes, nothing that he can do to try and convince him to finish what he’d been about to say. And though he wishes that Rin had not interrupted them, it’s fine. His chest is burning, but it’s fine. He would rather wait a little bit longer than make Makoto uncomfortable, after all. So there is no need to rush; he knows that Makoto will tell him whenever he’s ready. Until then, Haruka will just try to make the most out of their time together.

He reaches out and catches the edge of Makoto’s sleeve, reels him in until they are pressed together, hip to toe. Makoto lets himself get pulled closer and Haruka is happy about that; it makes it that much easier for him to rest his head against one broad shoulder, lets his own sag in relief as he sighs. “Just let me take that nap first.”

Makoto stiffens, and then relaxes. Tentative fingers reach out towards his own, dancing across his knuckles one by one until their hands are linked together; Haruka bites the inside of his cheek and tries to hide his smile against that ridiculous apron. 

“Okay,” Makoto says softly, caresses Haruka’s thumb with his own. 

And Haruka just moves closer, leaning into the touch. He still wants, doesn’t think that he will ever stop. 

But for now, this is enough.

 

\--

 

It is not until he heads back that night that Haruka realizes he’d been jealous. It was such a foreign feeling to him – familiar in the way that he’d recognized it as nothing good, but new in the sense that it had taken him by surprise – that he almost missed the signs until he climbed into bed. 

Umi curls up on the pillow beside him, tail swishing lazily as he yawns. Though he’d come out of the underbrush happy and glowing in a way that screamed satisfaction, he’d been surly as he hopped up on the bed. Haruka decides not push it – he’s far too used to Umi’s weird moods – until sharp teeth suddenly snap at his fingers, winking in the lamplight as he moves his hand away.

Haruka digs one thumb into his palm. “What’s wrong?”

Umi growls and turns his head away, then whines and covers it with his paws, presses his snout against the blanket. He thumps his tail onto the bed three times before letting it hang limply over the edge and Haruka sighs, moves his hand to the top of Umi’s head. Gentle fingers trace patterns against his flukes in an effort to get him to calm down, though it all seems for naught as Umi whines again, plaintive in a way that makes Haruka clench his jaw.

And then he remembers what had happened in the Day Care just as they’d been leaving. A trainer had brought in her Sylveon; he’d taken just one look at Brownie and promptly licked at her chin. Brownie hadn’t seemed too impressed and though the trainer was plenty embarrassed, Makoto had waved away her apologies with a good-natured smile.

“Brownie can take care of herself,” he said, shooting her an affectionate look. “And she’ll let me know if something is bothering her. Your Sylveon will be just fine, so please try not to worry.” 

And although Haruka did not miss the glare that Umi shot towards the Sylveon, he hadn’t thought much about it at the time. In fact, Umi almost had to drag him out of the Day Care by the hem of his sweater. He’d been right in the middle of finalizing something with Makoto, choosing a day in the coming week to go and visit the Olivine lighthouse together, when Umi had bitten into his clothes and  _tugged_ , nearly sending Haruka stumbling through the door. He hadn’t been bothered, really – he’d just assumed that Umi was hungry, or maybe wanted to go for a quick swim in the lake before they made their way home. But if all of this was about Sylveon, then Haruka was finally starting to see the problem.

Umi was jealous. Worried that this Sylveon will somehow manage to steal Brownie’s heart at some point during the night, scared that he will go back to visit and find her in the arms of another Pokémon. The whole thing is so wonderfully  _normal_  that Haruka bites the inside of his cheek to try and keep his expression in check. But he fails; happy that nothing is actually  _wrong_  with Umi, he cannot stop the small laugh – born more from relief than any real sense of amusement – that spills out of him.

“Don’t worry,” Haruka says. He tweaks the tip of Umi’s nose. “You’ve known her longer. And Sylveon is only staying overnight. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

Umi blinks up at him.

“I’m sure,” Haruka says, leans down low until their noses touch. “She likes you. Makoto says that she does, at least. And he knows her best.”

Silence. And then Umi rolls over on the bed, mewling happily. 

Haruka watches him, heart swelling with affection. It always leaves him uneasy whenever Umi is sad, always makes him feel as though his entire world is off-kilter and something needs to be done before it spirals out of control, unable to be brought back to what it once was. But things are good now; Umi is happy again. Back to his normal self, however stubborn and temperamental that may be. It makes Haruka calm, makes him feel grounded in the knowledge that no matter what else may change in his life, Umi will always be the same. Be his constant, his confidant, the one who has been with him all along. It’s reassuring, he thinks, to see him leaping all over the bed, worries forgotten. Comforting in a way that has his heart feeling light, chest expanding as he breathes in a sigh of relief.

So Haruka slides under the covers, reaches over to turn off the lamp –

– and promptly sits up again, eyes wide as he is hit with a realization: he was jealous. Earlier that day, when Makoto told him where the chocolates had come from and Haruka suddenly felt irritated and snappy and restless – that was the reason why. 

He’d been jealous. 

But jealous of what? Not Kisumi, he knows that. After all, Haruka had been the one that Makoto had come to with the box of chocolates. Haruka had been the one with whom Makoto chose to share that moment. He could have easily called Kisumi and thanked him over the phone, but instead had sought out Haruka and even gone so far as to feed him, unwilling to take no for an answer. So it was not that he was jealous of Kisumi, not really. It was something more than that, something different. Bigger; something important enough that he can feel it taking root in his heart even now, changing and growing with every passing moment.

He sits back, shoulders bumping against his pillow. It’s difficult to explain, even to himself, what he wants, what the problem is. But he needs to figure this out, knows that he will not be able to rest easily until he does. His chest aches and he absently knocks a fist right over his heart, feels the answering beat strong and steady against his fingers. He wants to be able to put this into words. He wants to be able to understand what he is feeling, wants to know why even just  _thinking_  about how happy Makoto was to get that box of chocolates makes him feel as though his chest is going to crack open. So badly; he wants to understand so badly. But that has never been one of his strengths, and the more that he thinks about it, the worse he starts to feel.

Letting out a harsh breath, Haruka rubs his hands across his face. He is not familiar with this, neither the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth nor the twisting of his stomach, as though someone has taken it in their hands and is trying to push it up, up and clean out of his body. It hurts, he can admit, and even more so because he does not know where it came from all of a sudden.

Umi cracks one eye open and nips at his thigh, a growl rumbling low in his chest. He lifts his head and drops it heavily against Haruka’s stomach – the position that he takes whenever he senses Haruka getting frustrated, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts and unable to get out. He whines once and buries his nose in the bunched up material of his sleep shirt, slowly settling down as Haruka smooths a hand between his shoulders.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, taps his fingertips against blue skin until Umi lets out a quiet huff. He bites back a half smile and breathes deeply through his nose, trying to follow Umi’s example. Sleep would do him some good; as much as he wants to figure this out, he knows that now is not the time. Not when he has plans to meet Makoto by the lake tomorrow.

Umi lets out a strange sound – garbled with sleep, but somehow still clear with disapproval.

Haruka hums and scoots down the bed, finally twisting off the lamp. Umi shuffles a little bit closer and Haruka lets him, takes comfort in the snuffling sound that fills the room as he falls asleep, nose pressed into the dip of his belly button.

“Good night,” he murmurs sleepily. And soon enough, Haruka nods off as well.

 

\--

 

Strangely – or fortunately – enough, Haruka figures it out the very next day.

The sun is high in the sky when he hoists himself out of the water, goose-bumps rising along his arms as the wind brushes past. It had been the perfect day so far; he and Makoto had met bright and early on the banks of the lake and then spent most of the morning in the water, enjoying the subtle push and pull of the waves lapping against their bodies. And for the first time in a long while, Haruka had truly felt relaxed. He’d been able to close both his eyes and his mind, let everything go silent as he cut through the water from one bank to the next, over and over again until it felt like his muscles were screaming. It had been refreshing and, honestly, it was exactly what he’d needed.

Because how could he ever expect to figure  _anything_  out if his brain was constantly working on overdrive? Between his responsibilities and the jumbled mess of his feelings, it was almost too much to handle. But then he’d stepped one foot into the lake and suddenly, everything seemed to be clearer. Like his field of vision had opened up somehow, and he was now able to slot everything into place. Line them all up and see everything for what they were. It was incredible, and Haruka had made the decision then and there that he would never let too much time pass again before he went for a soak. As much as he loved spending time with Makoto, the headaches and general confusion were just not worth it.

The only thing that had been missing was Umi. Though he had come with Haruka to the lake, he’d forgone the swim and instead chosen to stay on the grass with Brownie, to rest his head against her hindquarters and dip his tail in the water, occasionally splashing her and then licking away her laughter. But Haruka did not put too much thought into it – as much as he loves the water, he cannot deny that he loves it even more when Makoto is there with him. And if given the choice, if Makoto had gotten out of the lake and decided to spend the morning lying on the ground, then there was a fair chance that Haruka would have followed him out and settled down into the dirt as well. 

And not for the first time, he thinks that it is truly ridiculous how strong his feelings for Makoto are, especially after having only known him for a few months.

“Haru,” Makoto says, and draws his attention almost immediately. He takes a couple steps closer and offers him a towel; when all Haruka does is blink, Makoto takes matters into his own hands and drops the towel on his head, rubbing firmly as he adds, “You’ll catch a cold if you keep on standing around, Haru! At least dry off properly.”

“It’s fine,” Haruka grumbles, but makes no move to pull away.

Makoto just looks at him knowingly, pulls back one of his hands to scratch at the strong planes of his shoulder. “Of course.”

And Haruka cannot tear his eyes from the corded muscle shifting underneath that smooth skin, has to physically turn away in order to gather his wits. “Let’s eat,” he says haltingly, swallows so hard that he can see curious green eyes lingering on the way his throat works, tension holding tight around his collarbone. He takes a step back and the towel tumbles from Makoto’s grasp, settles uncomfortably round the back of Haruka’s neck and it is heavy, cold where it presses against his skin, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. Haruka takes another step back, and then another and another until he is crouching beside his bag, avoiding Makoto’s gaze as he rummages around inside of it.

“Haru,” Makoto begins, and Haruka thinks that he will never get tired of hearing his name. Not the way Makoto says it, each syllable wrapped up tightly in the warm comfort of his voice. He never wants it to end, does not think that anybody else is capable of making him feel even half as much as Makoto does just by uttering one simple word. It’s ridiculous, he knows, and yet he can do nothing to stop it.

“Let’s eat,” he repeats, talks over Makoto as though he has said nothing at all. Haruka pulls the towel from his neck and leaves it lying in the grass, lifts two bentos from his bag and all but shoves one of them into Makoto’s unsuspecting hands.

“Ah – for me?” 

Haruka nods, turns away and fiddles with the blue handkerchief cradled in the curve of his palms. He tugs at the knotted cloth, rolls it between his fingers as he gets to his feet and steps closer to Makoto, chest ablaze. His hands shake – nerves, he supposes – and he presses them closer to his chest, tries to stop the tremors from wracking through his body.

“I made it,” he says needlessly, and wants to roll his eyes at the blunder.

“Haru!” The sheer joy in Makoto’s voice makes him turn back, makes him search until green locks onto blue, the colour so bright that it makes Haruka feel as though his heart is going to burst into flame and roast him from the inside out. He raises one shaky hand to his chest, flattens his palm over the thud-thud-thud of his heartbeat; Makoto smiles, and his eyes look suspiciously watery as he says, “You didn’t have to – Haru, thank you.” 

“It was nothing,” Haruka insists. He sits on the ground and opens up his bento, letting the handkerchief drape across his lap. He says nothing as Makoto follows suit, pointedly looking away as he raises a chunk of mackerel to his lips. “It was better that I make something than you go out and buy another steamed bun.” He mashes his lips together, teasing as he adds, “And it’s better that you buy another steamed bun than try to make something yourself.”

Makoto doesn’t take the bait, although his cheeks do flush. “Haru! I’m not that bad!” A pause, and then, as his eyebrows furrow in worry, “Am I?”

Haruka says nothing. Only bites into his mackerel, savours the flavour as it melts on his tongue. 

But his silence is enough and Makoto laughs, shakes his head fondly as he unwraps his own lunch. “So mean, Haru-chan,” he says quietly, though there is an underlying happiness in his tone. It makes Haruka smile, the corners of his mouth barely curling upward, and he is too slow to hide it when Makoto suddenly looks up at him, eyes soft with something that he cannot quite put his finger on.

“What?”

And for a third time, Makoto exclaims, “Haru!”

“What,” Haruka repeats. He gathers some rice in his chopsticks, blinks slowly as he waits for Makoto to get to the point.

It takes another minute – a full minute of Makoto gaping at him in a way that makes him feel as though there is ice running through his veins, body so cold that it burns – before, “Is this…Haru, you made me green curry?”

He frowns, not understanding the problem. “It’s your favourite.”

“Well, yes,” Makoto says. It comes out somewhat bashfully, though Haruka has no idea why. “But I didn’t think that you knew that.”

“You told me.”

“Yes,” he says again, and Haruka holds his sigh. “But that was only in passing. I didn’t think that you would remember.”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

Makoto shrinks in on himself and Haruka reaches over, lays a hand onto his wrist to stop him in his tracks. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question, and Makoto sighs. “It’s not a big deal or anything,” he says, plucks at the orange handkerchief strewn across his knee. “I just…I mentioned it weeks ago, that’s all. And I thought that you would have forgotten all about it – I mean, I forgot all about it! Until this moment, at least. But thank you Haru,” and his voice goes soft with gratitude, curls around Haruka’s heart until it is warm, so warm that it hurts, that it feels like he is about to be cracked open; nothing is strong enough to keep his heart from growing, expanding, bursting straight out of his chest. The fireworks are back, he realizes. Back but stronger this time; hissing smoke and spitting fire, dragons in their own right.

“It was nothing,” he says again, and quickly pulls his hand away. He knows that Makoto is looking at him questioningly, can feel the weight of his gaze roving over the surface of his skin and leaving goose-bumps in its wake, but he just picks at the food in his lap, lips drawn into a thin line. He suddenly feels as though he’s lost his appetite; nobody told him that being in love  _hurt_  so much. Small, stupid little things that have the power to drive a sharp pain through his chest, to make him feel as though he is drowning; kicking, screaming, unable to get to the surface and draw a breath. It’s scary enough trying to truly understand the depth of his feelings – it’s even scarier when those same feelings are so overwhelming that he can barely stand, can barely  _breathe_ , without dark spots invading his vision, without feeling like there is an anchor tied to his legs, dragging him down, down, down until he can barely see the sun anymore. Part of him just wants this to be over; he wishes that everything were out in the open, wishes that he no longer had to deal with all of this alone.

And he wants to be selfish, he really does. But his feelings from yesterday have not changed – no amount of pain is going to force him into making Makoto uncomfortable. Nothing in the world will be able to make him do that. And just as surely as he knows Makoto would never hurt him, he knows that he would never hurt Makoto. Knows that Makoto believes this too, and would never want to break his trust by doing just that. 

So he shakes his head, lets out a sigh and pinches another piece of mackerel between his chopsticks, lifting it halfway to his mouth. “Makoto,” he says, and waits until Makoto looks up before nodding to the bento in his lap. “Is it good?”

Makoto smiles so widely that his face nearly splits in two. “Yes! It’s really delicious, Haru-chan. Thank you.” He laughs, so softly, so gently, that it nearly gets lost in the wind; Haruka has to fight the urge to reach out and catch it in his hand, to save the sound and keep it close forever. “Is there anything that you can’t do?”

“Plenty,” Haruka replies.

Makoto blinks. And then he laughs, loud and pure in the afternoon sun. It seems to reverberate through the trees until Haruka can feel it settling into his bones, sending a warmth through him that is not the least bit uncomfortable, despite the summer heat. It races all the way to his fingertips, blood rushing beneath the skin as he presses one hand to his cheek, somehow not at all surprised by the blush he finds there.

“That’s not funny,” he says as he leans into his own touch.

“Haru,” Makoto shakes his head, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. He is trying to fight his smile, Haruka can tell. He can see the way his lips tremble, the way that Makoto bites the inside of his cheek to try and keep them under control. But it proves to be unsuccessful; without any warning, his smile breaks free. Stretches across his face, so bright and unashamedly happy that Haruka finds it impossible to swallow, throat suddenly dry. His eyes sting and he wants to look away, thinks that if he doesn’t then they will burn right out of his skull, not at all equipped to face something so blinding. But he can’t. He is rooted to the spot, mackerel still hanging between them.

“Stop,” he demands, but he doesn’t mean it. Would never want to take something so beautiful from the world. “Makoto,” he says again, worrying the edge of his lip in embarrassment, “stop.”

“Ah, I’m sorry Haru.” 

“It’s fine,” he sighs, though the blush that still rides high on his cheeks says differently.

Makoto tilts his head. His smile shrinks, but does not falter. In fact, it looks gentler now, even more genuine. It softens his face, makes him look younger than Haruka knows him to be, but in a way that is just as charming as always. Which makes him want to turn away, even more so when Makoto says, “You just looked so cute when you were all flustered. Really, Haru, I  _am_  sorry.”

He frowns into his bento. “Eat.”

The look that Makoto gives him is nothing if not fond, mouth pinching as he bites into a hunk of apple. “Of course, Haru.” 

And it is right then, with the sun shining in his eyes, that Haruka realizes something.

He wants Makoto to be happy for every day of his life. That is his wish; the one thing that he would gladly scatter a million eyelashes for. But entwined with that wish is another, one that is much more selfish, one that Haruka holds near and dear to his heart and is unwilling to give it up if there is even a possibility of it coming true: he wants to be the one to make him that way. He wants to be the one responsible for putting that smile on Makoto’s face. The one who, no matter what, will always be able to make him happy. He wants that. His heart  _aches_  for it.

He wants that smile to be directed only at him. Not anybody else – not a fancily wrapped box of chocolates, just waiting to be eaten, and especially not Kisumi, no matter how many miles away he may be.

“Say, Haru,” Makoto says, catching his attention as he bites the inside of his cheek. “You know, our trip to the lighthouse is coming up soon and well,” he pauses, scratches his chin, “since you made our lunch today…if you wanted, I could – ” 

“No,” Haruka cuts in. He resolutely shakes his head. “I can do it.”

“Eh?” Makoto gapes. “Haru!”

“Makoto,” he says, raises his eyebrows just the tiniest bit and fights a smirk as Makoto slumps in defeat.

“Fine, fine.” He doesn’t sound overly put out as he adds, “You spoil me.”

And Haruka cannot stop his smile, mouth moving of its own accord. He wonders if he will ever stop blushing around Makoto, and then figures out that he does not want to. It is as exhilarating as it is embarrassing, and it makes him feel alive in a way that is exciting and new. He thinks that if given the chance, he would gladly continue to blush like this for the rest of his life.

But for now, he just hums. Ducks his head to hide the smile and steadfastly ignores the laughter that bubbles from Makoto. “Just eat.”

 

\--

 

There are times when Haruka can barely believe that Makoto is real.  

Like whenever he eats something sour and his mouth scrunches together, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that all Haruka wants to do is lean forward and smooth the tension away with a cool press of his thumb. Or when he accidentally trips over his own feet and stumbles into the counter; somehow, he always recovers with a smile, head tilted to the side as he scratches the back of his neck with sheepish fingers and more often than not, Haruka finds himself letting out a breath that is just as affectionate as it is relieved. Even when Makoto runs late – when he passes through the door in a rush, fingers tangled up in the apron strings behind him as he tries to loop them into a proper knot. And he always forgets that his mouth is full, tries to talk around the glasses caught between his teeth, apologies falling from his lips and scattering onto the floor, cheeks flushed in a way that makes Haruka’s chest feel heavy with an unrelenting pressure, as if his lungs have been filled with wet cement. Hardening slowly, steadily; a plaster cast made from the jumbled mess of his emotions. 

And like right now. 

Right now, with his sleeves rolled up, shirt pulled taut across his chest as Makoto balances a bag of soil across one shoulder. There are smudges of dirt marring the smooth skin of his arms; Haruka can see them clearly in the sunlight, just visible under a light sheen of sweat, and his mouth is suddenly a desert: dry and stuffy and unbearable.

How is it possible for one person to be that beautiful? Or more than beautiful, maybe. Enchanting. The thought has his cheeks growing warm, but there is truly no other way to describe Makoto that can properly do him justice. He is enchanting, and what is frustrating about that is that it seems like he doesn’t even try. Makoto is just naturally that way – whether covered with flour after a disastrous attempt in the kitchen, or laughing freely with flowers weaved through the thick strands of his hair, or even standing in the sun, clothes sweat soaked and sticking to his body in the most tantalizing of ways, he is enchanting. And Haruka feels it like a punch to the gut. All that he has to do is catch a glimpse of Makoto and it feels like the breath has been knocked straight from his lungs, leaving them cold and empty and alone, vying for oxygen that is simply not there. 

“Makoto,” he croaks, clears his throat and tries again, “Makoto.”

Makoto stills. And then he is turning around, raising one hand to card through his hair and oh, Haruka feels as though he must be dying.

“Makoto,” he says again, unable to get anything else around the lump in his throat, and the craziest part is that he does not know why. He just knows that it feels like he is about to burst open, like every bit of him is about to be exposed under the stinging midday sun.

And for some reason, he thinks that he likes it. 

It is like a garden coming to life in his chest; the thought comes unbidden, but it seems apt. A swelling of love that knows no bounds, that is nothing short of impossible to contain. So the only thing that Haruka can do is let it grow. Sit back and let the flowers blossom. Let the vines thicken; let them spread out and curl between the spaces of his ribcage until they are wound tightly around his heart. Until he can no longer breathe without remembering how hopelessly in love he is with the man in front of him. Until every heartbeat begins to taste like cinnamon and honey, begins to make him feel so warm and so safe that he has to pinch himself to make sure that this is not a dream. That this is real, that Makoto is not going to fade away in the very instant that he opens his eyes.

It is a feeling that takes some getting used to, but it is also a feeling that Haruka will never grow tired of. One that he never wants to end; that he will chase forever and ever and ever, so long as it is Makoto who is looking back at him from the other side. 

“Haru?”

Haruka blinks, and Makoto slides into focus, forehead creased with concern. 

“Are you okay?”

“Umi,” Haruka says. He shakes his head subtly – an attempt to clear it without drawing too much attention – but Makoto tilts his head in that gentle, teasing way, and Haruka knows that he has failed.

“Umi,” he echoes, and his mouth quirks.

Haruka mashes his lips together. “I came early because I wanted to check on Umi. Before we go,” he clarifies, and rests his hand on his messenger bag, running his fingers over the protruding shape of their lunch. It had taken a while to prepare them, and so Nagisa had brought Umi to the Day Care a little bit earlier; he had been anxious to see Brownie, crowing and bouncing and generally getting underfoot.

“Ah,” Makoto smiles, and it is no less teasing than the tilt of his head. It makes Haruka want to reach out and smush his cheeks together, makes him want to force the look away if only to calm the unsteady thrum of his heart. “Okay. You check on Umi while I get cleaned up and then we can go?” 

Haruka nods. 

“Alright then!” Makoto dimples. “See you soon, Haru.”

He nods again and steps away, combing his fingers through his bangs as he rounds the corner of the Day Care. He takes one last look over his shoulder and draws in a quick breath – Makoto has lifted the bag from his shoulder and is leaning it against the fence, muscles tight as he tries to stop it from falling over, and Haruka feels like he has to turn away in order to stay sane. He feels like he discovers something new about Makoto every single day, feels like even then, it is still not enough.

“Ridiculous,” he says under his breath, and then scrubs one hand over his eyes tiredly. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

He sighs and crosses into the backyard, fingertips massaging his temple. That had been too much. He would never complain, of course, but it had been  _too much._  Because now he has to spend a whole afternoon with Makoto armed with the knowledge that he can look like  _that._  Now he has to somehow go on with his life whilst knowing exactly what Makoto looks like with rosy cheeks and sweat-slicked hair, keyed up from exertion. And he’s definitely going to have the image of those rounded biceps playing back behind his eyelids for days _,_   _at least._  As if Haruka isn’t far enough gone already, Makoto actually has the  _audacity_  to look even better when disheveled and sweaty; it makes his blood boil in the most thrilling of ways, makes something hammer, pulsate, low and feral in his belly. 

But now is not the time to think about all of that. He only has a few minutes before he has to meet Makoto out front and then head up to Olivine together. Just the two of them alone, for hours and hours and hours, and if he allows himself to even touch upon those thoughts right now, Haruka knows that he will not be able to face him later. So he tries to steer himself back onto safe ground, darts his eyes around the backyard until they land upon Umi bending low under a tree.

Brownie is lying on her stomach beneath him, front legs outstretched and nose just pressing against something that she has balancing between them. Sizeable and round, a little fatter towards the middle before it sharpens into a peak, and Haruka notices the pattern – brown and cream, scalloped edges dividing each colour before they can truly meet – in the same instant that he realizes – an egg. 

His eyes widen, and he is just about the step forward when something stops him in his tracks. But it’s difficult to say what exactly; more a feeling than anything concrete. He watches as Umi bows his head, nudges against the swell of the egg with his nose. He watches as Brownie lets out a short yip of laughter, as the curl on her forehead bounces with the motions, and then he watches some more as Umi brings his tail up and brushes it gently across her shoulders, lets it rest there as he licks against the curve of her cheek, and he suddenly feels as though he is intruding.

Instead, he takes a shaky step back. And then another, and another, until he finds himself inside, weight pressed up against the wall just over the threshold. 

“Haru?” Makoto peeks out from behind another door. “Is that you?”

“Makoto,” Haruka says, and he can do nothing about the way his voice trembles. His fingers too, he sees, as he presses them against the counter, shoulders jumping as he holds on tight. His entire body feels lousy with electricity, vibrant and unstable, and he has to take in a deep breath before he can even attempt to say anything more.

“Hey,” Makoto says, bites his lip in concern. His eyebrows are furrowed as he moves closer. “Are you okay, Haru?”

Another deep breath. And then Haruka says, “Umi and Brownie. They have an egg.”

It’s almost funny, how far Makoto’s mouth drops open. “An egg?”

Haruka nods. “They were outside. Under the tree on the furthest edge of the lawn. And Brownie had an egg.” He huffs out a quiet little breath. “They move so fast.”

A light laugh bubbles out from Makoto at that, but the tips of his ears have long since turned a familiar shade of pink, visible only because he is running one hand through his hair with tense, awkward movements. “Do you…think that we should talk to them?” He bites his lip again, clamps down so hard that the blood drains away and it goes white. “Would that even make sense?”

“I don’t know,” Haruka says plainly, shrugs and then continues, “But not now. They seemed cozy, like they were in their own world. If you want to talk to them, then do it later.”

“Later, okay, later is good. I can do later,” Makoto says quietly, quickly, and the words trip over each other as they race to be heard.

He paces along the floor, hands tugging on the hem of his plaid button-down, and Haruka is suddenly filled with a surge of love and longing so deep that it takes root right in his soul, blooms up and outward, from the marrow of his bones all the way to the tips of his fingers. He reaches out and snags the tail of Makoto’s shirt, pulls him in until they are standing face to face and he can count each and every freckle that crosses the bridge of Makoto’s nose.

For a moment, they just stare at one another. And then Makoto’s entire body sags, the stress draining away from him in waves. “How can you be so calm about this, Haru?” He bites the inside of his cheek, lips pressed together in an unfair pout. “We – we’re going to be grandparents!”

Haruka scrunches his nose. “Don’t say it like that.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Makoto,” he says, lifts his hands until they are curled around those broad shoulders, fingers catching in the ridges of his arms on their way up. “Breathe. It’ll be okay.” He pauses, tries to ignore the way his voice goes soft and doting as he repeats, “It will be okay. You didn’t see them Makoto, but. They’re in love. Umi is happy. And so is Brownie. Don’t worry.”

He rubs the back of one finger against his eyebrow. “They’re happy?”

Haruka frowns. “Of course. All Umi wants to do is make her happy.”

“No, I know,” Makoto sighs. “I’m sorry. I just meant…I’m glad that it’s Umi, Haru.” And then, more softly, “I’m glad that it’s you.”

And just like that, the air between them is suddenly charged. Haruka stifles a gasp and cranes back reflexively; his fingers sink into the firm muscle of Makoto’s shoulders, and this time, he is unable to hide the way his voice catches on a whimper, breaking and then fading into a heavy silence. And Makoto is looking at him with eyes so bright, so warm, that his heart leaps into his throat, flutters so wildly that he is almost certain that it will break free and fly away, afraid that it will lose itself somewhere outside in the world and leave him floundering, searching. Empty. 

But then Makoto smiles, a little thin, a little watery, and it is enough. Enough to let Haruka see that he will never be alone. As long as he knows Makoto, he will never be alone again.

And is that not exactly what he has always wanted? 

He remembers Makoto standing before him, thumb out and expression soft.  _It’s the rule of stray eyelashes: blow them off and make a wish._   _If you keep it to yourself, then it’s bound to come true._ He remembers trying. Remembers closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, remembers saying the words over and over again in his mind until he was sure that he would burst.

_I don’t want to be alone anymore._

And then he’d opened his eyes and Makoto was there. Has been there ever since that day. Had been there even  _before_  that day, if he is being honest.

And then Haruka remembers something else: the sunlight coming in through the leaves overhead, dappling across Makoto’s face, eyes sharp with determination. He remembers the way his stomach had swooped down to his toes, the too-sweet taste of that chocolate still dancing across his tongue and the burn across his cheek, left behind by fingers so hot that he was sure he would melt. He remembers feeling, for just one second, as if everything was about to change. He remembers waiting for it,  _craving_  it, before everything was pulled away from him with the simple  _bzzt_  of his phone.

And look at them now. Somehow, they have been able to rebuild that moment; threads stitching themselves together and meeting in the most intricate of knots, a single instant getting rewoven in the fabric of time.

“Haru,” Makoto says, and his name sounds raw, fraught with emotion; Haruka can see the shaky rise and fall of his chest as he steps back, can hear the way his breath catches in his throat and stays there. “Haru,” he says again, ekes out a laugh that seems to float away on air, and Haruka blinks, presses one hand up to his chest where the sound rattles his heart. And then, for a third time, as if it is the only word that Makoto knows, “Haru.”

“Makoto,” comes the answering whisper. His fingers curl in of their own accord, clutching the fabric of his shirt, and he lets the steady thrum of his heartbeat ground him in this moment. He can feel it; something big is coming. The very air between them crackles, tingles, until he can feel the goose-bumps rising along his skin, and he does not want to miss a second.

“There was something that I had wanted to tell you.” Makoto is speaking slowly, carefully, as he crushes the hem of his shirt in trembling fists. “I was…well, I was going to tell you later today. At the lighthouse – I wanted to tell you at the lighthouse, but,” he pauses, licks his lip nervously, “this is just as good a time, I suppose. But Haru, I – ” He stops himself. Takes a deep breath and Haruka can see when something changes in Makoto; his mouth firms into a line, eyes hardening with resolve. “Haru. About you, I…Haruka, I’m in lo – ”

“Oi, Haru!”

Makoto snaps his mouth shut.

And Haruka turns to face the intruder, grinds his teeth together so harshly that he is surprised they do not turn into dust and fall out. “Rin.” His voice is eerily calm. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to get you,” he says, and beside him, Sousuke nods. His arms are folded over his chest; a Salandit – Winnie, if Haruka remembers correctly – peeks out from over his shoulder, blinking slowly at Haruka before leaping across and crawling atop Rin’s head. She snuffles quietly, content in her perch, but keeps her unsettling eyes open and trained on Haruka, as if waiting for the show to start. “It’s been months, Haru, come on.”

“Months?” Makoto frowns. “Haru, what are they talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” he says,  _insists_ , and grabs the front of Makoto’s shirt, draws him in a little closer. “Rin, leave. Makoto, continue.” Because he needs to hear Makoto say it. No matter how much he wants this, no matter how sure he is of how that sentence ends, it does not count unless Makoto says it.

“Wait, Haru.” Makoto moves to take a step back but Haruka tightens his grip on his shirt, curls his fist snugly into the material and Makoto relents. He scratches the back of his neck self-consciously. “Let me at least introduce myself, then. Tachibana Makoto.” He smiles politely and Winnie coos; Haruka frowns and moves in even closer. “I work at the Day Care.”

“Matsuoka Rin,” Rin replies. He thumps his chest and then hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “And this is Yamazaki Sousuke.”

Sousuke nods, lifts two fingers from where his hands are pressed against his chest. “Hey.”

Makoto frowns again. “Matsuoka and Yamazaki,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows furrowed as he thinks, and now is not the time, Haruka knows that, but he can feel his heartbeat jumping, leaping behind bone, blown away by just how cute this man can be. And the feeling only doubles down when Makoto straightens his back, eyes alight as he lifts one finger in realization. “Ah-ha! I know why that sounds familiar. You two are part of the Elite Four, aren’t you?”

Rin grins. “Got it in one. You a fan?” 

Haruka tips forward into Makoto’s chest, thunks his head against the sharp line of collarbone. He was never going to get out of this now – there was little that Rin loved more than talking about his spot in the Pokémon League. It had been his lifelong dream, trying to follow in the footsteps of his father, and while Haruka respects that, he really does not want to hear the whole story again. 

“My brother and sister, actually,” Makoto answers. “They think that the Elite Four is the coolest thing ever. And they want to beat them and be the best, they said.” His voice grows wistful, and then a gentle hand settles in the small of Haruka’s back, thumb idly sweeping against the base of his spine. And it looks casual, like doing so is simply second nature, but Haruka knows that Makoto is really trying to draw some strength. So he gives it to him, leans into the touch and lets his body melt, folding pliantly into Makoto’s embrace. “They even told me that they were going to go up against the Champion and take the title for themselves.” 

“Really?” Sousuke cocks a brow. “They said all that?”

“Yeah,” Makoto sighs. “About two years ago. And they were really excited about it too. I think that they mentioned wanting to go two versus one, though, which I kept trying to tell them wouldn’t be fair. But they didn’t want to listen.”

Rin snorts out a laugh. “Well Haru, looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“What do you mean?” Makoto asks. He pulls back, and Haruka cuts a glare at Rin for making that happen. But then Makoto is leaning in a little bit closer, peering out at Haruka from under his bangs, and his eyes are clouded over with so many unanswered questions that Haruka knows that he needs to explain.

“Makoto,” he says, voice measured. “I’m the Pokémon League Champion.”

He blinks. “Eh?”

“I am,” Haruka repeats, “the Pokémon League Champion.”

Rin snorts again, and Sousuke smiles, rolling his lips inward to try and stave off laughter. Even Winnie chuckles, low in her throat, and the sound is somehow both amused and mocking. 

“No, I got that.” Makoto shakes his head. “What I mean is,” and his voice is low, almost hesitant, when he finally asks, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Haruka shrugs. “It didn’t seem important.”

“Not important?!” Makoto balks. “How can you say that?” His eyes are wider than Haruka has ever seen, wild with disbelief, and he clenches his fist tighter in the front of Makoto’s shirt, blinks up at him curiously as Makoto goes on, “Haru, of course this is important! You’re the best trainer in the whole world! You – you’re famous!” He pauses, and then all of the colour drains from his face. “Oh Gods, Haru, I think my sister has a poster of you on her wall. She has such a big crush on you. And probably my brother too, Haru, what am I going to do?” He buries his face in his hands, shaking his head miserably. “They’re going to hate me!” 

“Completely understandable,” Rin says. His eyes are twinkling. “You stole their man.”

Makoto pales even more. “I didn’t mean to! And well…I didn’t technically – I mean! He’s the  _Champion_  of the  _Pokémon League_. I didn’t know before, but. He is. And I’m just…well, I don’t really think that – ”

“Hey,” Haruka cuts in, and his voice is as hard as diamonds. He frowns. “Stop. Makoto, listen to me. This doesn’t change anything. I’m still me. And Makoto is still Makoto.” He means every single word that he says, means it with all that he has in him, and he needs Makoto to see that. More so, he needs him to  _believe_  it. So he takes his face in his hands, rubs his thumb over the faint cluster of freckles just shy of Makoto’s cheekbone and smiles, breathtakingly earnest, at the way his actions spur a blush to bloom beneath his fingertips. “Please. Continue.” 

“Are you sure?” He still looks hesitant. “Because Haru, if you don – ”

Haruka glares. “Continue.”

And Makoto just melts. His cheeks heat up even more, a gentle, rosy pink that compliments his eyes so perfectly that Haruka almost wants to cry. He feels so lucky, right now. He does not know what he has ever done to deserve someone like Makoto coming into his life. Does not know what makes him worthy of being looked at like this: like he has hung all of the stars in the sky – no, like he is  _made_  of the stars themselves, blinding and brilliant, as though Makoto does not know that he is the one who shines most brightly, but he is thankful. Oh, he is so thankful.

“Haru,” Makoto begins, and then pauses to take a deep breath. He straightens his back, standing tall, and Haruka’s hands fall away from his face, hang limply at his sides until Makoto takes them in his own. He smooths his thumb along the bump of knuckle, presses calloused fingers into smooth palms. “Haruka. I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you. And I don’t know when it happened or how it began, but one day, I just looked at you and I knew. I looked at you and I thought that if you are what my future looks like, then maybe there is nothing to be afraid of after all.”

His heart feels like it has flipped itself inside out. He has wanted to hear those words for so long. And he has wanted to share them for even longer, wanted Makoto to know just how much he means to him, and the ache in his chest almost makes no sense. Like he has been carrying something around with him for far too long, and it is only now that he is allowed to finally set it down; that is how he feels. As though his heart has been overworked for all this time and is finally getting the rest that it so desperately needs. 

“Me too,” Haruka manages to get out. He twists his wrists, catches Makoto’s hands in his and laces their fingers together. His throat feels clogged with emotion but when he speaks, his voice is clear as a bell. “Makoto, I love you too.” 

“Yeah?” His eyes are wavering, watery, maybe a little disbelieving, and Haruka cannot have that; he squeezes Makoto’s hands, using just enough pressure to let him know that this is real. “You do?”

Haru clicks his tongue, looks away even as he closes the distance between them and presses his face into Makoto’s chest. “I do,” he says, and he can feel the tattoo of Makoto’s heart against his lips. “I do.”

Makoto laughs. And it is nothing like what Haruka is used to hearing from him: weak and teary but still so joyous, teeming with so much unfiltered emotion that he cannot help but look up, cannot help the way his lips curve into a smile, toothy and genuine, and then Makoto swoops in and suddenly, they are kissing.

Haruka remembers dreaming about this moment. He remembers phantom fingers on his skin, remembers a touch so hot that it left ice scattered in its wake. He remembers hands, big and strong and solid, cradling his face and shaping his jaw. Callouses scraping against the delicate skin of his neck, so sensitive that the slight friction had been enough to leave him reeling. And he remembers the taste of something sweet; he had never been able to give it a name, had barely known anything else about it other than he always woke up hungry for more. 

But this kiss is different.

This kiss is soft and slow and sweet. This kiss is Makoto’s hands settling on his waist, thumbs featherlight along the skin of his hips. It is little pecks all over his mouth, cheeks, chin, shifting seamlessly from monumental to effortlessly casual, as though this is their three hundredth kiss rather than just their first. This kiss is quiet gasps, sharp intakes of breath; it is stuttering heartbeats and blood rushing, flowing, pounding in their ears. This kiss is Haruka threading his hands into thick, sandy hair, curling his fingers and holding on tight, afraid that this whole thing will go away if he even so much as opens his eyes. This kiss is Makoto mouthing at that spot along the curve of his jaw, somehow able to draw the hoarsest of moans straight out of him, grip tightening as he struggles to keep his breathing in check. 

This kiss is Makoto whispering, “I really do love you, Haru,” against his temple, voice unsteady from the depth of his emotion.

This kiss is Haruka pressing his lips to the column of Makoto’s throat, holding them there as he draws in a breath, shaky, shuddery; a silent admission of the same.

This kiss is perfect.

And then the peace is broken as somebody tries to sniffle discreetly.

“Rin,” Sousuke says, and he sounds both awkward and incredulous. It’s strange, Haruka thinks, how that somehow translates into  _fond._  “You don’t have to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Rin says, brushes his hair out of his face. His eyes are rimmed with red, cheeks flushed and wet, and Winnie rests her paws against them in a show of comfort. “I’m just…Sousuke, it’s  _Haru._ ” And he looks at him pointedly, like that is supposed to mean something.

Which Sousuke apparently gets, because he nods and his eyes soften in a way that Haruka has never seen before. “Yeah, I know.” He takes Rin by the chin, gently brushes a few stray tears away with the pad of his thumb. And then he grimaces. “Which makes this worse but…Nanase, we have to go.”

“Where?” Makoto speaks up. He runs his fingers through inky black hair, drops another kiss atop the crown of his head. “You keep on saying that, but where does Haru need to go?”

“Back to work,” Rin answers. He clears his throat. “He’s kept people waiting because he wanted to hang out with you before, but now he needs to do his job as League Champion.”

His mouth drops open. “Haru! You can’t just do that!”

Haruka shrugs. “This was more important.” He turns to Sousuke. “This still is more important. Two more weeks.”

Sousuke shakes his head, expression pained. “You know we can’t do that.”

“Fine,” Haruka huffs. He turns to Rin this time. “One more week.”

Rin bites his lip. “Haru, believe me, we want you to be happy. But – ”

“One more week,” he presses, tightens his grip on Makoto’s fingers. “Please.”

Rin lets out a noisy breath. His bangs blow up and whack Winnie in the face; she scrambles back and almost falls off of his head, saved only by Sousuke catching her in the palm of his hand before she can hit the floor. He plops her onto Rin’s shoulder once more and gently scratches along her back with one fingernail, biting his lip in thought.

“Okay,” he finally says, and ignores the way that Rin whirls around to look at him. “One week. But one week only. And we won’t be coming to get you next time, so make sure that you’re not late.”

“He won’t be,” Makoto promises. He’s trying to be firm, Haruka can tell, but the smile pulling at his lips betrays just how happy he is that they are able to stay together a little bit longer, how relieved he feels that Haruka does not yet need to leave.

“Good.” Sousuke pulls out his phone, expression grim. “Then I’ll call Shigino and let him know that he doesn’t need to wait up anymore. He wanted to battle you today, but if you’re staying here an extra week, then we have to let him know that he has some time to train or…well, whatever he does.”

Haruka shrugs, unbothered. All that he wants is some more time with Makoto. Everything else can wait until the week is over.

“Shigino?” Makoto chimes in. His eyebrows jump; Haruka looks up at him in confusion, lower lip jutting out into a pout. “Shigino Kisumi?”

“Yeah.” Sousuke blinks. “You know him?”

He nods. “Kisumi is my childhood friend. I actually think that I owe him a letter,” Makoto pauses, laughs sheepishly and scratches the tip of his nose with his knuckle, “but I’ve been a little bit preoccupied lately. Oh, but he did tell me that he was about to go up against the Elite Four last we spoke, so I’m happy that he managed to get through!”

“Ah,” Rin says. He eyes Haruka and smirks, makes something unpleasant curdle in the pit of his stomach. “So you’re the Makoto that he’s always going on about.”

“Maybe,” Makoto says. He dismisses the idea with a shy smile and looks down at Haruka instead. “He’s the one who sent me those chocolates. Remember, Haru-chan?”

“Oh.” Haruka’s eyes narrow. Him. He glares at Sousuke. “Let’s go.”

Rin barks out a laugh. 

“Haru?” Makoto grips the edge of his sweater, reels him in as Haruka makes to move away. “Wait a minute! I thought that you got an extra week…?”

“It’s fine,” Haruka says, shrugs. “I’ll go with them and beat him, and then come back in time for dinner.” 

Sousuke coughs, rough and aborted. He turns away, shoulders shaking, and Rin kicks him in the back of his knees to make him stop. He smiles ruefully, shakes his head as he says, “Jeez, Haru. That’s just like you. Cut him some slack, okay? He did manage to beat the rest of us.”

“But wait, Haru,” Makoto says again, and he sounds more confused than anything else.

Haruka slants him a smile, splays a gentle hand across his chest. “It’s okay. I’ll be home soon.” And it’s strange because Haruka has never really had a home before – at least, not since his grandmother died. He’s preferred to move around a lot since then; always on the go, staying in whatever Pokémon Centre is closest for days at a time. Renting out a room that he barely ever sees, opting instead for the fresh air and open skies. The open water, too, if he can wrangle it. The feeling that comes with having a home – that bone-deep happiness and contentment – is not something that he is familiar with. 

Until now. 

Now the word seems to come out on its own; bubbles up and bursts forth and demands some attention, and it feels right. It feels so right. So he says it again; two more times, maybe even three, until it feels like he is about to split open at the seams, filled with far too much happiness for one person to bear alone. “I promise, Makoto. I’ll come back home.”

And somehow, Makoto sees what that means to him. His eyes go soft, touch filled with such unbridled affection that his cheeks colour despite themselves. He presses a smile against the top of Haruka’s head, squeezes his hand one last time and then steps back. “Okay,” he says quietly, and then leans down to kiss him again on the mouth. “Okay. Come home safe, Haru.”

“Yeah,” Haruka says, and then his smile turns wicked. “Since our grandchild is counting on me.”

“Haru!” Makoto groans. “Don’t make fun of me!”

He laughs quietly and looks around the room at his friends; at Rin, who swipes Winnie from his head and cradles her against his chest, voice low as he leans in close and whispers something in Sousuke’s ear. He looks happy, Haruka thinks. Like there is nowhere else in the world that he would rather be. And at Sousuke, who looks happy too. Or maybe content would be a better word, like he is living his best life. As though there is nothing more that he could ever want – not when he has Rin right there with him, elbow propped on his shoulder as he tells a story, loud laughter already breaking through the words.

He looks at Makoto; looks at the pale pink staining his cheeks, at the light in his eyes and the easy slope of his shoulders. He thinks about how Makoto makes him feel: safe and loved and warm, as if nothing in the whole entire universe can touch him, so long as he is wrapped up in those arms. And he never wants that feeling to go away, wants to live and breathe it every day for the rest of his life. There is nobody in the world that he has ever loved as much as he loves Makoto, and yet somehow, it still does not feel like enough. He wants to love him more, almost wants his heart to crumble under the weight of all this emotion. If there is anybody in the world who deserves to be loved like that, Haruka knows that it has to be Tachibana Makoto. 

He thinks about Umi. Thinks about everything that they have been through together and how far they have come. He thinks about how Umi has always,  _always_ , been an extension of the love that his parents had for him. Thinks about Umi now, outside with a family of his own, and realizes with a muted gasp that Umi is going to have to sit this battle out. He thinks about how much he deserves it, and feels his heart swell with pride at what an incredible Pokémon his fluffy little Eevee grew up to be.

And then he thinks about his grandmother. Thinks about how happy she would be if she could see him now. About how much she would have loved Makoto, had they ever been given the chance to meet. He thinks about everything that she has ever taught him, about the part that she had to play in shaping the kind of man that he has become. And he thinks about how, in some twisted way, he ended up meeting Makoto because of her. Because of what she taught him, because of what he believed, and he knows that he will never be able to repay her for that. Honestly, he’s not sure if anything ever could. 

He takes a deep breath and holds a fist over his heart, thinks about what is festering deep in his chest. Burning hot and sunshine bright, he realizes that the feeling is not as foreign as it used to be. Not since he found Makoto. And it is strong, so strong that it feels like his body has gone numb with the force of it. He aches to share this with the world, wants everyone to know how incredible it feels to be loved. To be cherished and treasured and kissed with so much emotion that just remembering it makes his toes curl.

But he has to start somewhere.

“Makoto,” he says quietly, searches for his fingers and then grips them tightly in his own. He is suddenly struck with this sense of urgency, like he needs to tell Makoto now, right now, how he feels. He can’t wait; there is no time to dawdle, and even less time to trip over his words. He needs to know. “Makoto, I love you.”

“Haru,” Makoto says, and although he sounds surprised, his voice is soft. Tender, filled with such naked adoration that Haruka feels his heart skip a beat. Makoto pulls him in a little bit closer, brushes a kiss across his temple. “I know.” Another one, just south of his ear. “And I love you too.” Warmth trails along the curve of his cheek and Haruka leans into the touch, hums when he hears Makoto let out a breathy giggle. 

“What is it?”

“Haru-chan, look.” Makoto sounds delighted. He holds his thumb close to Haruka’s mouth in a familiar gesture, eyes shining. “An eyelash. Make a wish!”

But there is only one thing that Haruka wants and he is already standing across from him, an expectant smile on his face. Still, it can’t hurt to be sure. As much as he believes in what they have – and he does, he knows with everything in him that this is real – he also thinks that it is better to be safe than sorry. At least when it comes to the important things. So he smiles and leans in a little closer, the words already stringing themselves together in his mind.

_I want to be with Makoto always._

Then he closes his eyes and blows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I had first started planning for this fic, I had each section outlined and detailed in my notebook so that I would know what to write. And that worked out pretty well – for most of the fic. The last section really threw me for a loop. I had everything planned out, down to dialogue and the confession, and I even had some of the narration paragraphs written on scraps of paper and everything. But when it actually came time to write it out properly and add it to the story, nothing was working. It sort of felt like the story had moved away from where I’d originally meant for it to go and because of that, I had to scrap so many of my plans and start fresh.
> 
> I ended up with about 10k words of actual narrative content that just got thrown away. Fully fleshed out scenes and everything that would just not fit into the story as a whole. I could not find a way to make it all naturally flow together so unfortunately, they ended up on the cutting room floor. And mentally, that really created a roadblock for me. But that’s life, I suppose. Maybe I’ll find something to do with them someday, or maybe not. But whatever the case, I’m happy that I managed to push through and complete the fic.
> 
> One of the scenes that ended up not meshing with the final product was about Haruka and Makoto and how it seems like out of all of their Pokémon, only Brownie and Umi have nicknames. I know that it seems bizarre but there is actually a reason for this. In Haruka’s case, his grandmother helped him name Umi (as you saw). He did not really start catching Pokémon until after her death and by then, he had no interest in nicknames because it was something that he’d done with his grandmother. He just really did not want to do it alone.
> 
> Makoto is a bit of a different story – he is actually neither here nor there on the nicknames. His siblings are more prone to naming their Pokémon (and his Pokémon) whatever they want, and he just lets the name stick. Everything that he caught after leaving home has no names. Everything that he had while living at home has been given a nickname by Ren and Ran.
> 
> Also, [this](https://ca.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080508205919AANhsDJ) is some information on Haruka’s grandmother’s reasoning behind why she did not like the name Ningyo. As Haruka said in the story itself, Baa-chan found that Umi did not look like a human, so she gently shut that name down.
> 
> Information on the pink camellia can be found [here](http://www.flowermeaning.com/camellia-flower-meaning/). Aside from it being Makoto’s birthday flower from the pre-Fresh Fruit birthday set, it has some really beautiful meanings that I tried to incorporate in the story. Because Haruka knows the language of flowers, of course.
> 
> Something else that I never got a chance to touch upon in the fic: the hometowns and Pokémon parties of all the characters. Oh, plus their jobs! Please believe me when I say that I have everything planned out, but it would be a bit of a long explanation and this is already getting lengthy. But if you guys are interested, let me know?
> 
> Alright, so I think that is it! Questions, comments, concerns, please let me know. Once again, sorry for the wait, and I hope that you enjoyed even just a little part of this! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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